Meant to Live
by ShiroKitsune
Summary: Everyone deserves a second chance, right? But second chances aren't just given; they are fought for. Post-Factory, Amon and Robin will not be content to remain hunted forever. How much strength does it take to make a person? How much to break a person?
1. MADBRAIN NOON

I had not intended to do this story. It is the companion, or rather the continuation of "Singing in My Sleep." However, that story was so favorably received that I decided to continue it along. Thanks to all who supported me so warmly in that first posted endeavor. The title to the story is the same title as the song by Switchfoot. I'll include the lyrics to that song at the end of this chapter.

Rating: PG-13

Teaser: (Post-Series) Everyone deserves a second chance, right? But second chances are not simply handed out; they are fought for. The destruction of identity is not the end of life. And everything inside screams for second life.

Summary: After the destruction of Factory. Amon and Robin will not be content to remain hunted forever. How much strength, how much trust, can make a person? How much strength does it take to break a person?

Disclaimer: I own nothing. I go to college and work in a fast food joint. I have no money. But you can try to sue me. I like getting funny letters in my mail.

* * *

Meant to Live

by ShiroKitsune

Chapter 1: MADBRAIN NOON

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"Robin," Amon's careful voice broke in on her thoughts. It was time to leave. She had known it was coming. She had known from the minute she escaped the Factory. And yet, now, looking around at the apartment still littered with unnecessary belongings, the knowledge that the end of her old life was here, left her with a lump in her throat and a curious tightening of her lungs.

"Robin," Amon tried again his voice still cautiously soft. He came to stand just behind her to the left. He reached a hand out to lay on her shoulder when she twitched apprehensively away. His eyes flashed in surprise for a moment before returning to their usual closed slate color. He saw the gray hint of exhaustion that flitted through her eyes and it embarrassed him.

_He had been on the couch half asleep while she made them food and tea. And through her haunting song he had found peace and comfort. He had been able to rest._

"Come," he said to the lightly swaying girl. He kept one hand on her shoulder to steady her and guide her to the door. "Are you ready?" he asked.

Such a loaded question. Was there any way to be truly ready for this?

"I have brought what I need," she said indicating the black duffel bag beside the door. His eyes sparked in recognition of her evasion. He looked at the soft, trembling lines of her form as though he had never seen her before.

Where had her fighting spirit gone? Where was the determined angel of hope?

"Are you afraid," he asked betraying a slight hint of worry in his voice. She seemed so much smaller, standing there in that same flowing black skirt, but now paired with a soft gray sweater. He looked at her downcast face expectantly. She huffed out a sharp breath of air and rocked her head slowly back and forth. She lifted her face, her head tilted to the side, and smiled a rueful little smile.

"No," she replied honestly and captured him within her eyes. Those eyes trapped him in their fire.

The most ancient goddess. The goddess of fire. The burning sun that gave rise to all life. The crackling logs, ablaze, could warm a home or destroy a city. Those flames were slowly consuming him.

He stared at her, unable to move.

Almost bewitched.

She turned away and lifted the duffel bag. The strap settled firmly on her shoulder. "I'm ready."

That was all she said.

"_I'm ready."_

Amon nodded, his voice lost as her words echoed in his mind. No matter what may come later, now, they were ready. He had made his promise to her as the morning light had filtered into the apartment, and Amon was a man of his word. His eyes were distant as he replied to her in his own mind.

"_As am I."_

* * *

He drove in silence. Not that silence between the two was unusual. Amon was truly glad that his partner seemed to have no inclination to fill in the comfortable silences with aimless rambling. 

But just this once, couldn't she have said... something. Anything that could help him to understand her and her unnatural calm.

It was-- irritating, he decided looking at Robin out of the corner of his eye one again. She had been silent since they left the apartment, dark, unlocked, and abandoned to the prying eyes of the world.. He had thought at first that she was still worried about the future and saddened by having to give up her life. She had shifted slightly and his eyes had quickly flicked to her but what he saw there was not sadness.

It was peace.

She sat, properly, though comfortably, with her hands folded gently in her lap and her eyes on the road ahead. A ghost of a contented smile lay upon her face. Her body moved slightly in tune with the car. She was so tranquil.

Somehow, that bothered Amon greatly. He didn't know how long he could take her Mother Teresa serenity. How could she be so strong? Didn't she realize that her life as Robin Sena, craft user, and STN-J member was over?

"You never asked," he said sharply and noticed with some satisfaction that she startled at his voice.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"Where we're going," he said.

"Oh," she said and smiled as though she knew a secret.

"What?" he asked more sharply than he had intended but her smile didn't slip.

"Didn't you already plan where we were to go?" she asked. He nodded and looked at her suspiciously.

"Then why would I go pushing into it. I trust your judgment," she said.

There was that word again. Trust. That was what it all came down to in the end.

"We are going to see my brother," Amon volunteered the information.

"Nagira." It was not a question.

"Yes. He will help hide us. When it is safe to travel, we will leave Japan," Amon said. Robin simply nodded again as though she had come to that conclusion as well.

"We have to be careful, Robin" Amon warned her.

She continued to sit silently. That peaceful silence.

"They are hunting us. And if they catch us…" he let the end trail off.

"I know," she said still looking out the window. She turned toward him and it seemed that her eyes were suddenly very dark. Amon's hands clenched the wheel tighter as his lungs burned for air.

"I have made my peace." She said and turned away.

* * *

Authors Notes: 

Feh. It's the first chapter. What are we expecting? Ah well. Hope they aren't too OOC. The whole, "I am ready. As Am I", is a severely loaded part but it will be explored further later.

Thanks again for all the kind reviews for "Singing in My Sleep." I hope this story doesn't dissapoint. Before fanfic net's newest dumb idea, the space below showcased the lyrics to the title song "Meant to Live" by Switchfoot. But since a harmless, helpful song lyric is now apparently a crime (dick-holes) I had to remove it. And of course, I can't give you a link as to where you can find the lyrics because, 'lo and behold' we can't include links either. Morons.


	2. BOND NOR MANIA

Meant to Live: Shiro Kitsune

Rating: PG-13

Teaser: (Post-Series) Everyone deserves a second chance, right? But second chances are not simply handed out; they are fought for. The destruction of identity is not the end of life. And everything inside screams for second life.

Summary: After the destruction of Factory. Amon and Robin will not be content to remain hunted forever. How much strength, how much trust, can make a person? How much strength does it take to break a person?

Disclaimer: Touch my pocket lint and expire a nasty, messy, death.

Meant to Live

by ShiroKitsune

Chapter 2: A Measure of Freedom

"Hurry," Nagira said twitching his eyes left to right. "Hurry. Let's get you inside before anyone sees you." Amon's brother ushered the pair quickly into the building and up the stairs. "I'm glad you made it here. I had wondered," he had rushed on breathlessly. "They sent out hunters. They knew you didn't die and now their main priority is to make sure that you do." They ascended the stairs with a sharp staccato of footsteps. Hanamura opened the door to the office as they reached it and the three slipped quickly into the room. Nagira placed a trembling hand on the frame and locked the door quickly behind them. His nails, clipped down to nearly nothing, seemed to scramble for a hold on the wood beneath them.

"What has been happening?" Amon, cool, crisp, and desperate. Nagira shook his head helplessly.

"Where to begin?" Nagira mused. He absently scratched his arm with his useless fingernails. Amon waited expectantly, his breathing still erratic though not from the flight to the office. Robin, in her terrible calm, stood patiently beside him with the hem of one bell-shaped sleeve brushing tentatively against her partner. Her feet were apart to brace the weight of the bag on her shoulder and her skirt rippled as she swayed lightly in place.

"We begin," came the scolding voice of Hanamura, "by offering our…guests, a seat and a drink. Or has all the time in the casinos totally erased what little you knew about common conduct?" Her eyebrow rose like a red flag before a bull. Her mouth taunted. Nagira look at her for a moment in surprise then turned his gaze away. He managed to look slightly embarrassed and Robin lifted one hand to conceal her slight smile. Amon's expression didn't change but Robin imagined she could see a bit of the tension drain from his eyes and his shoulders. 

"Yes," Nagira said. "She's right. We are safe, for now. Oh Hanamura," he called as though an afterthought and his mouth quirked into a smile. "You can bring the drinks to my office while I see to our guests' comfort." Hanamura looked at him with narrowed eyes while he tried his best for a look of oblivious innocence. Her tongue darted quickly over her lips before settling tightly beneath her teeth.

"Insufferable oaf!" she declared then proceeded to stalk out of the room.

Robin let out a small giggle which managed to escape past her hand and both men quickly turned their attention to her. The faintest hint of color flushed her cheeks and her eyes sparkled beneath downcast lashes. Nagira tossed a teasing smile at his brother then closed the distance coming to stand right before Robin. Like a gentleman, he bowed lightly and offered her his arm.

"May I escort you to the office?" He asked and Robin giggled again. With a swift nod she linked her arm in his.

"Of course, thank you. I would never have found it without help," she said attempting a dry tone which was ruined by the smile she seemed unable to contain.

"Well then," he said. "Let us go my lovely little Robin." He took a few steps toward his office before tossing a single word back to his scowling brother.

"Coming," Nagira asked innocently. Amon followed them into the office with all the sociality of a winter thunderstorm.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

That curtain of normalcy that had been softly draped over the trio's shoulders was torn off upon entering the office. As soon as Nagira and Robin passed through the doorway, she removed her arm from his and walked to sit on the couch facing Nagira's desk. Nagira moved toward his desk but chose instead to sit upon it rather than behind it. Amon entered directly behind them and sat down beside Robin without even a glance at his brother. He sat close enough to breathe for her; so close he could feel her heart pumping blood in time with his own. One body breathed. One heart beat. Amon studied the words in his mind carefully. Then with that deliberation dealt with, he tossed the words away and spoke the words that were to block them from the past forever.

"What has happened?" Amon asked. He could feel the bolt of excited tension in the body beside him. His own body fought to respond and meet that tension. Her heart pumped a bit quicker while Amon fought to control his own heartbeat. After a few choking moments he realized he could no longer feel his heartbeat. His lungs no longer pumped for air. The body beside him breathed deeply in and out while Amon waited for the painful tightening of his own lungs and the world of black that would induct him into the night.

He waited and wondered what to do with the last moments of his life. Robin turned her face toward him and breathed into him deeply.

"I'm sure Michael would help us. Don't you think?" Robin asked her partner. He blinked in confusion for a few moments, his mask never slipping as he realized he had missed a part of the conversation.

"Ah," Nagira began actually looking a bit sheepish and tossing a quick glance at Hanamura as she entered the room. "I've actually already spoke with him. He called here right after it happened and asked about you two. He's the one who helped with the information on Solomon."

Amon nodded his head shortly with regained composure. "Tell us what you know," he said. All business.

"Well," Nagira scratched his head. "I told you that Solomon has sent out hunters. Quite a few actually. They know your faces, your 'special' skills, and all of your identification codes. Right now, you couldn't even take out a twenty without them surrounding you like vultures."

Amon frowned at this. How far could they get with what little money they had on them. Nagira raised a hand to forestall any questions.

"I've taken care of that part already, so don't worry." He sighed. "The point is, Solomon is watching every airport and every dock just waiting for you two to try to escape. There's no way you can get out of the country right now. Now these hunters are making sweeps through the country looking for you. They know you aren't dead. No report on your whereabouts, official or not, have been released. As far as the world is concerned, you two are MIA."

"Take care of my car," Amon instructed. Nagira nodded approvingly.

"An accident then. That's probably for the best. It may help a bit. By the end of the day, you two will be officially dead."

"Fine," Amon said.

"What do you mean?" Robin asked. "What accident?"

"We're going to take his car and stage a little scene," Nagira's grin was wicked. "We'll make it look like you two were run off the road, perhaps over a cliff, and the car caught on fire. Then, with Michael's help, we'll enter an article on the accident and an obituary into the paper. It probably won't throw Solomon off, but it will help. They won't be able to use the open media to look for you two since you'll be 'dead'."

Robin bowed her head, organizing her thoughts. The practicality of the plan was understandable and yet…

It seemed as though, through their deaths, Robin and Amon would truly be gone. Her teeth bit at the corner of her lip absently as she sat deep in thought and oblivious to the fact that everyone was watching her. Hanamura was the one to break the silence.

"Robin," Hanamura said, "come here a moment." Robin released her grip on her lower lip and looked from Hanamura, to Amon, then back to Hanamura. Robin rose in a single fluid movement and went over to Hanamura. Nagira noticed the layer of tenseness that seemed to fall over his brother as Robin walked off.

"You don't have to be so worried." Nagira admonished. "It's not as though she'll disappear if you look away from her for a moment." Amon turned to his brother with fiercely pained eyes.

"She almost did," he said and closed his eyes for a moment. Nagira's own eyes widened at his brother's admission and he watched Amon closely. When Amon's eyes reopened, there was no trace of emotion in them and they went back to their passive scrutiny of Robin. 

Did he mean the factory?

Nagira's mouth opened to question Amon but shut quickly with an audible click. There were some things that he had no right to question. Some injuries were still too new to separate the wound from the gravel and dried blood.

Hanamura had undone one of Robin's hair twists and was unwinding its twin. Robin stood blindly and allowed her ministrations.

"Your hair," Hanamura admonished, "is too distinct. I could recognize you a mile away by your shape." The other tie came undone and Robin's hair rippled forward over her shoulders with the feathery tips like wings. Hanamura pursed her lips and lifted Robin's chin.

"Much better," she said and pocketed Robin's ribbons. Robin opened her mouth to protest but she was cut off. "No," Hanamura said, "from now on you won't be wearing your hair like that, so there's no need for these ribbons."

"They have another value," Robin whispered with downcast eyes. The older woman paused for a moment in confusion before understanding registered in her eyes.

"Fine," she said and held the ribbons out to Robin. "But only if you promise not to wear them. You have to be careful." Robin nodded and snatched the ribbons away. She looked back at Hanamura with eyes like mirrors. Reflecting faithfully.

"You two must stay here tonight," Nagira broke in and stood. "It's far too dangerous for you to be out. You can stay in the same room Robin used while she was here. I'll have someone take a couch up there for sleeping on. Unless…you'd rather share a bed?" Nagira smirked.

It took all Amon's considerable willpower not to physically remove the smile from his half-brother's face. His eyes glanced uncertainly toward Robin, afraid how she would react to Nagira's crude innuendo. Robin was…

She was smiling and shaking her head. She was amused.

"I think the couch would be welcome," she said in a level tone then began to walk toward the stairs.

"I wish that woman would stop changing every minute," Amon thought.

"Bah," Nagira said, startling Amon as he realized he had spoken out loud. "Who says she's changed. Maybe you just stayed the same." Amon sniffed dismissively and turned to the stairs. He began up them, ignoring the last crude call of his brother.

"Don't do anything I wouldn't do," Nagira called up.

"Like there actually is anything you wouldn't do," Amon muttered.

She's just a girl.

// I wish that woman would stop changing every minute. //

Amon looked up at his partner as she neared the top of the stairs. He watched her finish ascending, her hair floating softly behind her.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

A/N: Yay, let's play "find the hidden imagery and symbolism". Feh. I don't want to be here all night. Next chapter will be a little lighter (as any chapter in which Amon and Robin share a room is bound to be.) This chapter is a bit longer than the last. It looks like this story is going to be a long one kiddies so settle in.

All loves to my reviewers.


	3. BRAIN NOON DNA

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: Yes. I own everything. Even your minds. Now, buy me a flatbed scanner! ……… Okay. Maybe I don't own everything.

Meant to Live

by ShiroKitsune

To Readers: I love hidden imagery. And decided to hide a humorous metaphor within this chapter. I'll give you a hint as to where it is. You'll find it within the last five paragraphs. See if you can find it. I'll tell you next chapter what it was.

Chapter 3 : Finally Figured Things Out

It was with no small amount of trepidation that Amon entered the room which he was to spend the night sharing with his partner. He had been lifted in the air and twisted about, shot several times, thrown against many walls, and he had managed to escape a collapsing building relatively unharmed and unshaken. And yet, somehow, the thought of sharing a room with Robin was causing him undue amounts of stress.

// It's just nerves from what happened at the Factory. //

Amon paused at the top of the stairs and commanded his muscles into still submission. The muscles locked and transmitted painfully the steady pulsing of blood through his veins. rigor mortis set in and he dimly wondered when he had died. He remembered earlier, his heart, his breath had stopped. Then he had felt her heartbeat and she had breathed into him.

// It's just stress from the Factory. //

His hand fell smoothly upon the precise metal doorknob. Even parallel lines and perfect 90 degree angles. Inch thick metal and an impressive dead-bolt. All useless unless each piece works together against intruders. Impossibly disciplined and functional but only on certain conditions. If the hinges are too weak, if the frame is unbalanced, or even if the wall cannot support the weight, then the door will fail.

The door would lie like a discarded tin soldier on a child's floor.

Amon twisted the handle and opened the unlocked door. The door saluted and with a click of well made heels, shut behind him.

She stood, crisply, before him with her eyes cataloging the room. Each shade of gray, each bare wall with crackled elephant hide plaster, and each fluttering shadow was caught within her eyes and incinerated. Her eyes skipped over the mirror, refusing it. Her eyes were her only mirrors now. 

// Reflect faithfully with thine eyes and thou wilt see thyself reflected faithfully back. //

Thoughts that came not from her own mind sparked their invasion in her eyes. She stepped forward into the gray haze with easy melancholy familiarity. The room was as she had left it. She lay her bag lightly on the floor then proceeded to stretch her arms sinuously above her head. Each muscle expanded and contracted with flawless precision. She rolled her head and her unbound hair caressed her shoulders. Amon watched the lines of her body in her rolling fluidity with a desperate confusion. Each caress of her hair over her shoulder shone radiant in the dim light of the cell.

// An the bitter cold had stolen the will of him. The robin descended and impressed the hope of spring upon the frozen. Each word the robin spoke was one of power, renewal, and hope. The robin forbore the spring. //

Amon shook his head and squeezed his eyes closed. The last few days of running and hiding were beginning to take their toll. He rubbed kaleidoscopes into his eyes and prayed that Nagira would send up the couch soon. The soft scent of orange and ginger filled his senses and a moment later he could feel a silken and timid hand rest on his shoulder.

"Amon," Robin said. "I think you should rest. You haven't slept much lately." He opened his eyes and looked down at her. "The bed is up there," she continued and took her hand from his shoulder to gesture to the loft bed.

"You have slept less than I," he pointed out sharply. The scent of orange faded slightly as she shifted to her back foot. Her eyes searched his, pleading, what? He didn't know.

"I am not tired yet," she said. With a kind of dismissive finality she sat on the floor with her back against a column and pulled her bag to her. The nylon made a dry 'skritch' as it was drug across the concrete. Her hands reached into the bag and a look of concentration covered her face. Her tongue poked shyly out from her lips until her hands alighted on the object of their hunt.

It was a book that looked as though it had not only seen better days, but had seen better years. It was wrapped in dingy burgundy cloth with a cracked leather strap binding it closed. Some of the pages were rippled with water damage. But her hands ran over it reverently as though it were made of solid gold and studded with the most precious jewels. Gently, she brushed the strap off and cracked the book open to the first dog-eared page. Amon peered down with the expectation to perhaps see bible verses, or words of any sort. Instead he was taken aback to see the most hauntingly detailed image he was ever to lay eyes upon.

At the center of the picture was a man kneeling tiredly in the snow. His clothes were rough and his feet were unshod. He carried no weapon and no supplies. His body was pulled in on itself trying to preserve what meager warmth it could. Yet, his face was lifted and upon it was an expression wholly out of place. He was looking up with pure adoration at the woman before him. She stood on top of the snow, unbowed by the cold with her long golden hair and dress mixing in the wind. One slim hand was extended toward him with the palm facing upwards. The copse of trees among which they stood seemed to bend protectively over the pair. As he gazed up at her with hope and adoration, a small half smile graced her lips.

Robin gazed at the picture with a look of total contentment. Her breaths became deeper and her eyes began to droop. 

"Robin." Her head lifted sharply and confused eyes sought the source of the interruption. Amon stood with his back half turned towards her and his eyes completely hidden behind the curtain of his hair. "Go to bed," he insisted. She shook her head and turned back to her book. With one swift hand she flipped the page and began to read the passages written on the yellowed paper. Amon scowled and settled himself down on the floor. So they passed the rest of the afternoon in a sullen and rather juvenile sulky silence.

***

Sometime around seven, Nagira barged into the room and hauled the stubborn pair downstairs for dinner. Dinner was a quiet affair with only light conversation. Once the three were finished, Robin stayed to talk with Nagira while Amon returned to the room to take a bath. The conversation between Nagira and Robin was light and mostly revolved around people she had met when she had been first hiding out. The conversation had begun to lapse into long silences when Amon reappeared. He entered the room in dark navy pajama pants and a towel draped over his shoulders. His hair tangled wetly and drops of water hung from lashes over half lidded eyes.

"What? Did you run out of bubble bath?" Nagira lifted an eyebrow and smirked. Amon passed him without so much as a second look. He walked over to the sideboard and poured himself a glass of milk. Robin looked at Nagira questioningly and he smiled in response.

"He's like that after a bath," Nagira shrugged. Amon finished his glass of milk then stumbled upstairs. Robin's face registered only surprise and wonder. Nagira laughed at her expression and wiped a hand over his eyes. Within moments her own voice rang out with laughter. She pushed her chair back then stood with one hand shyly covering her mouth.

"Good night, Nagira." She said and began to exit.

"'Night little Robin," Nagira replied. "Sleep well." He listened to her footsteps fading as she ascended the stairs.

"Tomorrow's going to be a very difficult one." Nagira murmured to himself. "I hope you and Amon are up to it."

*** 

Amon knelt in a meadow beside a stream brimming with cool runoff from the newly melting snow. The air was crisp but the sun shed its warmth freely upon the land. The sound of birds in the new morning filling the air around him played a counterpoint to the euphony of the water. The grass was cool and soft beneath his fingers. With a contented smile he laced his hands behind his head and lay fully down. The clouds shifted overhead in an ever moving slide-show of images. He watched entranced for long minutes before the blinking of his eyes slowed to a stop. With the halting of his vision the music of the stream coursed strongly through his head. Yet the song had changed, slightly, almost imperceptibly. Amon rolled onto his side facing the stream and opened his eyes. He blinked rapidly at the sight before him. A girl, dressed only in her skin, stood waist deep in the stream with her back to him. Her hair clung lovingly to her skin. He stared unable to turn his eyes away. The girl looked coyly back over her shoulder and smiled at him. In her eyes, darker than the vents of the ocean, he was struck blind. Darkness engulfed him and all he could hear was the soft lapping of the water.

Splash….

He couldn't tell when the blackness of his dream became the darkness of the room. He simply returned to himself, lying on the couch, in the dark dead of the night. It had been a dream.

Splash…

He tensed at the sound and blinked rapidly in a desperate attempt to force his eyes to adjust to the muted moonlight. Shapes began to appear. Columns and walls. He lifted himself slowly off the couch and cast his eyes about the room.

Splash…Another whisper in the darkness.

Creak…The sofa sounded as Amon sat up.

Then, a soft gasp and a tremulous voice.

"A-Amon?"

"Robin? What are you doing?"

"I, I wanted to get a bath. But I didn't want to disturb you. So, I, waited. Until you were asleep. I'm sorry." Amon shook his head and ducked back down on the couch. A strange unusual heat covered his face.

"It's okay…." Amon groped for something to say. Why couldn't he think of anything to say? It was, an unusual situation, but, why get so…. "Good night." Amon stated finally and tried desperately to ignore the soft presence of his partner bathing less than a dozen feet away from him.

All he could see was the smile of the girl in the stream and the perfect warmth of the spring day.

Splash…

Rivulets of water tracing their way down.

***

Amon stood uneasily near the door while his brother gathered together the packet of information that was his and Robin's new life. He shuffled his foot lightly over the shaggy carpet beneath his feet. Nagira strode rapidly around the room, giving orders to the movers and gathering together the paperwork for Amon. Nagira was moving out himself, to another building, with less exposure. The movers bustled around lifting furniture. One stopped in front of Amon and looked at him expectantly and somewhat nervously.

"What?" Amon asked coldly. The mover shifted back slightly.

"Amon," Robin's voice, impossible soft broke in. "I think he needs that rug." Amon stepped back and the mover darted to pull up the rug. He rolled it neatly under one arm and stole away. Amon shifted beside Robin with a confused energy. Her hand burned as it brushed his arm and he stepped quickly away. She paused for a moment, hesitant, then turned sadly away to wait by the door. She wrapped her arms around herself and stood with her head bowed.

// I wish I knew who you were. The rules you live by. If I could only figure you out. //

The room buzzed with energy. Movers hauling boxes and furniture in an obscene dance of efficiency. Amon and Nagira arguing about something, nothing, anything.

But in her eyes all was static except for the fluttering hem of her skirt as it snapped at her ankles. Her fingers troubled her hair. Braid. Un-braid. Twist. Untwist. Like some kind of pendulum rhythm. Two opposites locked together in balance.

"Let's go," Amon spoke at her side, startling her. She looked up for a moment then knelt to pick up her bag. Without a word, he lifted her bag and hung the strap on his own shoulder.

"A-Amon?" she paused, unsure of how to phrase her question. Her teeth sunk nervously into her lower lip. He looked down at her and a ghost of a smile flitted across his face.

"Come," he said and held a hand out to her with the palm facing up. She slipped her own small hand in his and let his strength lift her from the ground. With one last backward look at Nagira and Hanamura, she followed Amon out, her hand loosely clasped in his.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Che, I had to cut this chapter down. There was just too much going on. Plus I'm two days away from production and my costume isn't done and the end of this semester is rapidly drawing nigh. Ah, well. I have a good handle on where this story is headed. Don't worry, there will be a definite increase in Amon x Robin goodness. And lots more symbolism and humor.

All loves to my wonderful reviewers! I can't respond to each one individually but I much appreciate the reviews. They make me warm and tingly…

Ah for the first time I feel the warmth of unconditional love.

* You're sitting under a heating vent. *

Oh, well. That's good too.

All loves!


	4. BORN IN A NOMAD

Disclaimer: I own about 672 hours of sleep debt if you really want to sue me for it.

Meant to Live

by ShiroKitsune

Chapter 4: Last Train Home

Amon sat rigidly as he leafed through the file Nagira had given him. There wasn't much information in the file. Nagira had enclosed a letter telling the pair that he was sending them to a contact of his who would be able to help them. Most of the papers were instructions on other contacts and instructions on how to get in touch with Nagira. The first contact was listed simply as 'Zakuro.' The page had a name and instructions on where to find Zakuro. It was however, according to Nagira, the most important contact they were to meet with. Nagira had said simply that he was sending them to someone who could help them more than he could. Someone who they could place their battered trust implicitly in.

And while Amon's personal feelings on that assessment were along the lines of 'Bullshit', Robin was willing to put her faith in Nagira's friend.

So here they were. On a train crawling north with only a piece of paper to guide them to safety.

And yet, she slept. Robin lay with her head against the window and her burgundy cloak over her like a blanket. That damned peaceful expression apparent once again.

He could have sworn it was his stomach that growled.

Robin jerked her head up at the sound, troubling her coat from her shoulders. Her muscles tensed for fight and she cast her half-focused eyes around for a few moments before she settled them on her partner's face.

Could it be that there was surprise there? A minute widening of the eyes? She thought it may be. Just a bit.

"Go back to sleep," he said and looked back at his papers. 

Or maybe not.

She sat still with her eyes trained on him for endless instants. One tendril of hair worried the side of her neck and she shook her head to alleviate the irritation. At the flash of gold as her hair caught the afternoon sun, Amon looked at her again. The slanting rays failed to reach him and his eyes were frozen in an unyielding darkness.

"Go back to sleep, Robin" he said. This time he used her name, Robin, as though it were both command and rebuke. No words of reassurance passed his lips and he returned to stare hatefully at the papers pinched in his hands. Robin leaned her head back against the window and pulled her coat back over her shoulders. She slipped her eyes closed but the feeling of eyes upon her kept her from slipping back to sleep.

She lay frozen like that until the train pulled into the station

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Amon was becoming frustrated.

No wait. Amon was frustrated. He was becoming irate.

That cursed little piece of paper with the directions to Zakuro was the cause of Amon's anger. The instructions had seemed easy enough. In fact they were wonderfully detailed and Amon had yet to make a wrong turn. No, the directions were exquisitely precise. They were also, Amon was nearly convinced, endless. After leaving the station, the pair had taken a cab to the town named on the paper. They had gotten out of the cab exactly where the paper had said to go. Every twist and turn had been followed faithfully. Their destination appeared to lay deep in a place much like the 'walled city'. And yet, after nearly two hours of wandering, Amon was certain that this maze made the walled city look like a children's fun house.

He could tell that his partner was getting tired of the endless maze as well. Her steps no longer matched his as she lagged behind. Every few minutes she shifted her bag to the opposite shoulder as though that would alleviate the burden. Amon had made no offer to carry it for her. Indeed, except for a few curt instructions, Amon had not spoken to Robin at all. Robin, lagging without even the comfort of his closeness, was left confused and more than a bit weary.

The sound of their footfalls had long since ceased their confident staccato and had now settled into a curious rhythm where on foot would go confidently forward while the other would skim the ground slowly to meet the first. Robin watched her guardian closely for any signs that both feet would drag. 

His shoulders were a bit bowed and his frown was a bit deeper. But there was still strength in his carriage and determination, though mixed with irritation, in his eyes. He looked at the paper and quickly confirmed the next set of directions. He rounded the corner and she hurried after him, her bag nearly pulling her off balance. She turned and all but crashed into her partner who had stopped just around the corner. No hint of distress was upon his face but she could feel the tense control of his body. She peered around his shoulder and saw the reason for his sudden pause. 

Four rather unsavory men were lining the alley they had to go through. The closest one reminded Robin of a raccoon, with dark ringed eyes, mussed brown hair, and wicked cracked nails. The man beside him was small, compact, and strung like a wire. The two men on the opposite wall were remarkably ordinary. They were neither short nor tall, muscular nor skinny, handsome nor homely. Their eyes and hair were exquisitely dull shades of brown. They were two men forgotten the moment they strayed from sight. All four men were watching Amon with calculating eyes.

"Eh, who's he?" Asked the raccoon. No one answered but the wiry man shrugged in a curiously jerky motion. "Well if he got no cause to be here I guess we ought to shove him out." Robin shifted nervously and one of the blank men noticed her.

"Hold on. There's a girl," said the one blank man.

"Think 'ere the ones?" asked the raccoon.

"We could ask them, but they might just lie. I suppose we'll have to figure it out ourselves."

During the thugs exchange, both Amon and Robin's hands had been slowly searching for their weapons. Upon that last pronouncement Amon produced his gun and Robin flipped on her glasses. At that gesture however the four steadily advancing men stopped and drew back. They apparently had been told about Robin's glasses, a fact which put the two ex-hunters even more on edge. Despite the protectively restraining arm that Amon had placed before her, Robin edged closer to the inevitable fight with a miserable determination.

"Enough," a voice cracked out stopping all of the fighters. Standing in the doorway of the closest building was a pale woman with blazing eyes. "They are the ones. You know this already." The woman spoke and turned a scolding eye on one of the blank men. To the surprise of both Amon and Robin, the blank man flushed and lowered his head in obvious guilt. "Every moment they are exposed increases the danger they are in," she continued relentlessly. And then in a smaller voice, "Every moment puts me in more danger." At that last soft pronouncement the four men seemed to shrink in on themselves. They made a few hasty bows and spoke a few abashed apologies before walking away. No two left together.

"Quickly! Inside," the woman spoke to them. Robin began moving forward but Amon reached out and stopped her.

"Who are you," he asked with a slightly uncontrolled edge to his voice. The corner of the woman's mouth quirked up and she shook her head.

"Nagira said you'd be like that," she spoke half to herself. She lifted her face back up, looking notably amused. "Zakuro." Amon took in her appearance with a sharp sweep of his eyes. The still set of his jaw spoke quite plainly of his disbelief.

"No, you're right. I'm not Japanese. Nor am I even Asian," Zakuro said in approval of Amon's calculating look. "I am however, the Zakuro your brother told you to go to. Now, unless you intend to be caught by the hunters, I suggest you come inside." Zakuro turned back, opened the door, and stood expectantly beneath the threshold. Robin stepped forward with firm acceptance and after tossing a fleeting worried glance at his partner, Amon followed.

Zakuro closed the door quietly behind them.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The room they were led to radiated a peaceful warmth that immediately set about comforting their fraying nerves. The walls were a rich cream and adorned at random intervals with paintings in the newer movements of Magic Realism and Art Deco. The pop yellows and subdued blues made a easy contrast with the rich brown leather sofa and armchair. Zakuro dropped unceremoniously onto the chair and motioned for Amon and Robin to sit on the couch.

With far more grace than their host, the pair settled lightly on the couch. They sat closely with each of their bodies oriented ever so slightly to the other. Their shoulders were set with weary vigilance and their eyes seemed to rove the dark corners periodically. A small almost timid smile found its way to Zakuro's lips.

"Nagira told me that you two needed help. He said you needed help hiding until it was safe to leave the country, correct?" Zakuro asked. Amon nodded reluctantly. If this was his brother's Zakuro, then he had to grudgingly give her his respect. As he was sure that Nagira would not have entrusted them to anyone who was not as good as or better than Nagira himself at hiding people and gathering information. And from the way those four men had reacted when she spoke, Amon guessed she was a person of some mean talent though he was certain never to let any hint of those feelings pass his lips. With utmost caution he began to place his much abused trust slightly in the hands of someone other than himself.

// Or her. //

At that invasive thought Amon's ever present frown deepened. Somehow, somehow she had managed to make him break his promise to never trust, to never depend on anyone other than himself. Why? Why did she have to make things so difficult?

// I never could understand why anyone would spend their time frustrating themselves over a jigsaw puzzle. Isn't life complex enough with adding extra mysteries. – Ah but unlike life, these are puzzles that can be solved. You don't see the joy in putting at least one thing in your life in perfect order? Amon? //

She begged with her eyes the question that she would not dare to let pass her lips.

// Are you okay? //

"Are you okay?" came the unwelcome voice of Zakuro. Amon lifted his accusing eyes to meet hers.

"Yes," he grated. "I was just thinking." There was a measuring in her eyes. A kind of precise calculating and weighing of him. When all her calculations were complete, she smiled warmly though the smile reflected not in her broken blue-gray eyes.

"Fine," Zakuro continued unfazed. "This is how I see it. You two are on the run from Solomon. They're watching every airport and seaport all over the whole country. So right now you can only hide in the country itself. Then there's this second group of hunters. I haven't been able to find out who they are working for."

"Another group!" Robin leant forward in morbid curiosity. Zakuro seemed taken aback by Robin's sudden violence. She faltered a moment expecting a reaction from Amon rather than Robin. Amon paid less attention to the news of another group and more to the lowly quivering body of his partner. There was something more here than he had expected. One large hand reached out almost of its own accord to lightly pry her clenched hand from the folds of her skirt. Her eyes widened further and she turned to look at Amon.

// An' as ye hath been tainted by the abhorrent blood shalt thou bear thine own extent of the curse. Will ye, nil ye, thine fate wilt ere be bound to the Huntress. // 

Amon's hand tightened unconsciously upon Robin's as he looked suspiciously at Zakuro. In a voice no more than whisper and yet with a rolling growling thunder he spoke.

"Are you a witch?" he asked. Four simple words. One simple question. And yet, the moment the words passed his lips he regretted them for both of the girls paled and looked at him stunned. Zakuro's eyes seemed further haunted but it was in the eyes of Robin that he found his pain most severe. With a gentle determination she took her hand from his. Her wide, pained eyes never left his face even as they lightly misted with tears.

That one single word. Witch. And how he said it so hatefully.

"No," he managed to croak out. His hands sought hers again and finding no resistance in her surprise, he clasped his hands around hers and leaned his forehead against them. "I didn't mean it like that." Amon said. Robin's mouth worked soundlessly. 

Who was this strange and suddenly empathetic man who held her hands so fervently? She remembered the way he had taken her hand and carried her bag from Nagira's office to the waiting taxi. She recalled the way he had watched her while Hanamura undid her traditional pigtails. She remembered his steadying hand on her tired shoulder as she left her apartment for the last time. And she seemed to remember something else. A darkness and a choking cloud of dust. A warm protective body covering her, shielding her, whispering charms into her ear as the world ended.

No words for then, no words for now. Robin simply relaxed into his strange embrace and tried without words to reassure him. Of what?

"It's okay," she said with quiet confidence. He lifted his eyes to hers and it seemed there was a flicker there in his eyes. A shadowy wraith of unknown feelings. And that soft, contented smile reappeared on her face. With that smile she poured her faith, her strength into him. A strange and surprising thought passed through his mind, somehow her smile was the closest to heaven he was sure he would ever come.

"It's okay," echoed Zakuro. "I'm not a witch though. I am… an unfortunate." Both Robin and Amon turned their gazes toward Zakuro. Zakuro smiled a frozen bitter little smile before continuing. "Solomon doesn't only hunt witches. Sometimes they hunt those who are close to witches as well. Maybe if I had been a witch I might have been able to… stop them. No, I'm not a witch. I am an unfortunate. And that is also why I am your best hope of hiding successfully." Robin's eyes opened in understanding and Amon squeezed her hand almost imperceptibly.

"That's correct," Zakuro said with a wicked smirk, "I am being hunted too."

"That's how you met my brother," Amon said but Zakuro shook her head.

"No, I knew your brother from someone else. After… he…. was hunted, Nagira helped me to escape as was… his… instructions. This building, this network, they were all a gift."

"From Nagira?" Robin asked.

"No, no. They were a gift from my friend, the witch." Zakuro's head lowered slowly to her hands and her shoulders bowed as though crushed. She breathed a few rough gasps before lifting her head and her terrible broken eyes back up to the pair. She smiled weakly and in mute eloquence stopped any further questions the pair may have had. "Come," she stood. "I'll show you to your room. Then, Robin, I will take you shopping for some new clothes and some, shall we say, disguises."

Robin's brows pinched lightly together as she faced the prospect of getting back out of this maze-like city. Zakuro noted this and laughed a bit ruefully.

"No," she said. "Those instructions were long and convoluted to ensure no uninvited guests follow you. I have a car in the building behind us. It will only take perhaps 15 minutes to get to the store. So let me show you your room." She paused as she walked past them and suppressed a smile. "I had a number of surprise guests," Zakuro began, "so I only have one room open. I hope it's not a problem to share?" Robin shook her head and moved to walk beside Zakuro.

Amon lifted his face upward as though looking for a sign.

"Is there really any need for you to keep torturing me?" he asked of no one.

And no one answered. 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

A/N: Che! I hate OC's but Zakuro is kind of necessary. Trust me, there was no other way around it. Oh well. Damn that got mushy towards the end…

As for the hidden humorous symbolism in the last chapter, it's cheesy. Quite frankly, finding out may create in you a desire to hunt me down and beat me. Or maybe you'll just groan, laugh, and move along. So here is the explanation of the metaphor.

Amon is a very controlled guy. He is the leader. He makes the decisions and is used to being in charge. However, now he is on the run and in a totally new situation. As he stands, about to take the plunge into the unknown, the rug is literally pulled out from under him. The key lines are as follows:

1. He shuffled his foot lightly over the shaggy carpet beneath his feet. 2. …mover darted to pull up the rug. He rolled it neatly under one arm and stole away. 

It was a short hidden metaphor, but Amon just had the rug stolen out from under his feet.

All loves 'til the next chapter.

Oh, and Amon wasn't watching Robin bathe last chapter. He was listening but he didn't see anything. You can judge for yourself whether he was imagining anything or not. The key line is "Rivulets of water tracing their way down." Good job to those who picked it up.

Random Rant: I hate people who say they won't update unless they get reviews, especially when those writers seem to be the less gifted ones anyway. If someone refuses to write unless they get x number of reviews, they aren't a real writer. You're supposed to write because you enjoy it, not for some kind of weak personal validation through others' perception of you. Pathetic.


	5. I ABANDON MORN

Disclaimer: I only own the scribbled notes I wrote at work while planning this story. 

Meant to Live

by ShiroKitsune

Chapter 5 : Just to Be Alone

//

to: redivivus@kanshisha.net

subject: (none)

Amon,

I'm pleased to hear that you got to Zakuro's okay. She can help you far more than I can so try not to be so damn stubborn. Zakuro told me about the second group of hunters right after you had left or else I would have let you know. When it rains, it pours, ne? Zakuro said she's got her network looking into it and I'm hunting for information as well. As soon as either of us get any information, we'll pass it on. Until then just be extremely cautious. Take good care of my little Robin.

Nagira

//

And that was the crux of the whole thing. Robin. Robin was the reason why Amon had been sitting in the parlor and staring blankly at the laptop's screen for the past twenty minutes. She had left with Zakuro several hours ago and had yet to return. 

// Of course, Robin is a girl, and girl's take longer to shop. //

// Then again. Robin was raised in a convent. I doubt she would shop as long as any other girl. So she should be back by now. //

And then that forbidden thought taunted him.

// What if she was caught? //

A curious twisting within his ribcage.

// No. They wouldn't be caught so easily. Maybe it's Zakuro who is holding them up. //

Abruptly, Amon stood up and strolled to the window for the twelfth time since Robin left. His hand lay upon the print of the time before and his breath fogged the same irregular circle.

Amon leaned further into the window to peer sharply down.

Was that a flash of blond down there?

Yes, but the blond was too light. A small towheaded child ran ahead of his dark-haired friend in a game of tag. The pair ran with innocent abandon over the cracked and dark stairs and cobbles. Were they witches? Unfortunates? Or normal children wholly unaware of the hunted in their midst?

And yet, no matter what they were, they were running around their neighborhood just like any other child would and playing tag just the same. Just like any two children they ran up a set of stairs and like any clumsy child, the blond made a mistake. The blond boy tripped on the last stair and found himself hurtling toward the weak railing. 

// I have made my peace. //

His friend cried out and leapt after him.

The limbs of a child are not strong. The calves, thighs, buttocks, do not have enough strength to support the way an adult's would. The shoulders, arms, wrists, all thin and awkward. Clumsy and unrefined. Perhaps then, had the dark-haired boy been older, he might have had the strength to push off that final step with enough force to catch his friend.

But the body of a child is weak and the blond hit the railing and began tumbling over it. The thin delicate neck snapped back and the shoulders followed vainly. First his left foot rose lightly, and fell back to the ground. The tiny shoulders began to whip back forward and his back arched in balance. A slight bend of the knee. Only a bit more inertia and he would be fine.

Crack.

The railing protested and tore itself violently free. Raw splinters caught the blond boy's clothes and skin. Vengeance perhaps for the damage inflicted. The left foot rose again and with its determination, forced the right foot to slide back.

Back.

Back.

And then there was no place left for the foot to slide. Gravity was calling in its own inexorable way. There went his center of gravity backwards past his spine. There was no recovery now. The left knee bent, foot still on the balcony, a last attempt at control. The boy had no power, no strength of body, no gift or curse of talent.

But someone else did.

As Amon watched frozen and stunned a shrieking keened in his ears and the shutters outside the window assaulted the glass. The shriek was a terrible cutting cry. He dropped painfully to his knees and clapped his hands over his ears in desperation. Would it never stop? The angry pounding shutters pounded an emphatic 'no' inside his skull. Then, just as sudden as the pounding began, so did it stop and Amon was deafened by the silence.

He lay his frenzied hands on the window sill and struggled to bring his face back to the window. His eyes darted to the unyielding concrete below the balcony. There the broken pieces of the railing lay. Amon shot his gaze to the landing and his eyes fell upon the gasping yet unharmed form of the blond boy. The dark-haired boy looked at his friend in relief which quickly faded to confusion. He looked around for his friend's rescuer. The color and flush drained from his face as he found the savior. Amon traced the boy's line of sight downward.

Standing in the entrance of the alley, with wind still tossing about him, was the wiry man from that morning. He looked sharply at the two boys and opened his mouth as if to reprimand them when Zakuro stepped sharply from behind him. There was a awesome implacability as she neared the stairs and the boys scrambled to appear both contrite and blameless. She stomped her right foot on the bottom stair as though she were about to ascend the stairs and make bodily sure that the two boys would never attempt any kind of foolishness ever again. She did not, however, advance any further. Her mouth worked the boys over until their arms wrapped their torsos in shame.

Then, where there had only been the stark contrast of Zakuro's sickly white skin and dark brown hair, there was suddenly warmth and color. Robin lay her hand on Zakuro's bare shoulder and forced her down from the step. Her earnest striking eyes and patient lips coaxed the woman from her anger. The wiry man took over the duty of punishing the boys while the two women returned to the building. 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

When the two women had initially returned, they found Amon in the parlor working on his laptop. He had, obligingly, closed his laptop and allowed Robin to relate her purchases to him as though for approval. The clothes tended to be long skirts, which while still black, were not unusual enough to draw attention to them. She had, as well, chosen a few tops, a coat, and a robe. Apparently, and to Amon's approval, Zakuro had forced Robin to buy some comfortable tennis shoes and jeans citing that at times, swiftness and ease of movement would be their paramount concern.

Zakuro had professed her intentions for a similar outing for Amon the next day, and with a total dismissal of Amon's polite decline, she left the pair to their own devices until dinner. Robin had taken her purchases to their room then returned to the parlor to read. Amon turned the laptop back on and resumed staring at the same line he had been focused upon before. In that manner the couple passed the afternoon, relaxing in a companionable calm.

Dinner was a sedate and silent affair for reasons which Amon could not fathom. Granted, Robin was not one to fill the air with idle chatter, but he would be damned if the two women had said more than a half-a-dozen words since they sat down. There was something in the air, a pervasive disquiet, that made Amon wish to grab Robin's hand and leave. He strongly suspected the feeling had something to do with Zakuro and how only her broken eyes consumed the food before her while her hands lay useless in her lap. Amon shifted position for the second time in the past five minutes and looked questioningly at his partner. She had eaten a bit of her food, then laid the utensils crossed over the plate. Her hands lay in her lap as Zakuro's did, and her head was lightly bowed. She made no more move to eat or even drink.

"Robin," Amon said. "If you are finished eating, go and get your bath. Tomorrow," he cast a slightly dark look at Zakuro, "is likely to be hectic. Rest up."

Robin brought her eyes to his and he was taken aback to see a spark of anger within them. 

Why? Why did he always order her around as though she were a child?

True, he had been her superior at the STN-J, and she had named him now as her Guardian, her Watch Dog, but did he have to be so immovable?

Did he have to be so abrupt?

Did he have to give up his old life to watch over her?

Robin winced at the last question. 

//A child's selfish request. A child's selfishness.//

She rose, quietly nodding, and proceeded toward their room.

Who was she to complain when he had sacrificed so much?

She grabbed her new robe and headed to the bathroom. Within minutes the hot water was filling the tub and fogging the mirror over the sink. Her outline was alien to her as she stared at it's distorted reflection. How had she never seen it before.

At that moment she felt very small. 

She slipped into the hot water and let it burn her whole being. 

It was like liquid flames.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

After Robin's swift departure, Amon had spent only a bit more time at the table before taking his and Robin's plates to the kitchen and excusing himself back to the parlor. His laptop flickered on once again and his hands flew over the keys checking his email for new information from Nagira. Finding no reply to his recent inquiry, and having become quite drained by the whole day, Amon closed the laptop in disgust. He rose stiffly and walked over to the window he had been so intimate with earlier. The alley was stunningly black in the night. It seemed the sconces beside the doors were too weak to cast any illumination further than the doormat. The concrete below was a black void melting into the walls. Occasionally, the flash of light in an animal's eye would bring some conceptual clarity to the alley but those moments were short and quickly returned the alley to a soundless void.

His breath fogged the glass before his eyes and he startled to see how fervently his body had been trying to come closer to the darkness. Suddenly, the room seemed to rapidly cool. Or perhaps that was simply the evaporation of the sweat from his brow.

No matter the cause, the outcome was simple and Amon decided the best thing to do would be to go upstairs and go to bed. He stopped by both the dining room and the kitchen in an attempt to find Zakuro. Anything to keep from having to go to that room. Unfortunately, she was nowhere to be found and he concluded she must have retired for the evening. It had become quite late sometime during his window-side musing. He found himself at the foot of the staircase, ushered by a sleepy body that was trying with all its might to impress upon his mind its desire for rest.

He hesitated for a moment. A great yawn forced itself from his lips with enough force to make his jaw pop. He winced and rubbed his jaw. He ascended the stairs, muttering dark implications to his rebellious body until he reached the door to their room. No hint of light crept beneath the door and judging Robin asleep he quietly entered and went about the business of stripping down to his boxers. He pulled on a pair of flannel pajama pants on and shuffled towards his bed fully intent on slipping beneath the covers and releasing himself to oblivion.

His intentions, and foot, collided with a lump of damp fabric on the floor. He dropped down and lay his hand on the terry-cloth edge.

Stupid girl. Leaving a wet towel on the floor.

Yet as he lifted it, he noticed the weight was too great for a simple towel. His hands traveled the fabric until he reached a sleeve.

It was her robe?

His eyes traveled to her bed. In the dim illumination of the city lights he traced the unbroken line of her shoulder. The line of her collarbone and the shadows of pressed flesh. Her shoulders were utterly bare above the blanket.

She slept naked.

Amon dropped the robe where it suddenly seemed to burn against his skin. He hurried to his own bed and slid beneath the covers keeping his back resolutely turned on his partner. His heart pounded in his ears.

Stupid woman. Why must she sleep like that?

His heart ceased it's angry pounding slowly and Amon thought for a moment that perhaps his eyes had tricked him in the dim light. Surely, Robin, high-necked-floor-length-dress-wearing-Robin would not be sleeping in the nude.

God. Let her be wearing a flesh colored T-shirt. Let his eyes have tricked him.

He rolled over and looked again at her sleeping form.

She was not wearing a flesh colored top. His eyes were not liars.

It was then that Amon hit a striking epiphany. God was not, could not be, the great righteous being of divine love and patience. No. For had He any mercy, Amon thought, He would not take such obvious and perhaps perverse pleasure in seeing Amon squirm.

He wondered if possibly Atheism was the best course of action.

God made man. God made woman. They began clothed in only their skin. Then they were tricked by the serpent and knew shame. Through that shame they covered their nakedness and were forced from Paradise.

Now, it appeared that at night, Robin was making her own bid to return to that Eden.

Amon rolled onto his back and stared hatefully at the ceiling, his faced still flushed with burning embers of an emotion he thought he had been safe from.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

A/N: redivivus is Latin and means "come back to life." 

I tried to make this chapter fun because the story is really going to pick up quickly now and there probably will not be as much chance for fun. I have the story in its entirety planned out now and hopefully I will not run into any issues to deter my writing. Hopefully.

Anyone noticed my love of metaphor and exposition? Wonderful.

Have I mentioned how much I love my reviewers? Every time I see another review I get a little flush of happiness. I am terribly happy that most everyone seems to be enjoying this fiction. I hope that the chapters to come will fill your expectations. I love hearing what you liked and didn't like in the chapters. It is quite helpful to me to see what is connecting with you and what you felt fell short. So, in homage, perhaps, to my wonderful reviewers, I plan on introducing Omake Theater to some of the chapters as a little bonus. In fact, the following (disturbing) Omake Theater is dedicated to one of them. Toadsly, this is for you. Be aware that my normal 'sarcasta-bitch' tone will dominate the following:

Omake Theater #1:

Amon staggered lightly down the street toward the apartment he was currently hiding out in with his partner Robin. He hadn't intended to come back so late but he had been abducted by Nagira and plied with liquor. As he drew nearer the apartment, he noticed a group of teenagers lounging on the stoop of the building a few doors before his. They were accosting men at random and waving money in their faces. Amon's now lopsided pout deepened a bit at the sight of the money. He and Robin had been a bit hard pressed for funds lately and here were these dumb kids waving it around as though it were nothing.

"Hey man," one of the boys grabbed Amon's arm. "Hey, you want to make a quick hundred?" Amon stared at the boy.

Now Amon was not the kind of man to simply do strange things for money but please remember that not only was he a bit drunk but his mind was only the strapped finances of himself and Robin. In that light, why his agreement to perform an unknown stunt for money, could only be viewed as kind and generous, correct? As long as there was nothing too unsavory involved, what was the harm in it?

And so, noble, kind, generous Amon agreed that he would indeed like to make a 'quick hundred.' The terms were simple but Amon hesitated. It was not, illegal, precisely, but more immoral. That hundred though, for Robin, was that not worth a little embarrassment. Amon felt that it was so and he awaited his chance to make his money. In a wonderful gesture of good faith, not at all influenced by Amon's gun, the boys gave him fifty of the dollars in advance. Amon turned to the building behind him and waited. His first opportunity came to him in the form of a blond, blue-eyed, busty American woman descending the stairs but Amon, perhaps with a slight lessening of the effects of the alcohol balked at the opportunity and let the woman pass. The boys, in another show of generosity, allowed Amon another chance. The next chance was an older Japanese woman and Amon wisely decided her obvious venerability as expressed by her gravity stricken body exempted her from any part in his 'mission.' The boys' generosity began to fade but after a quick look into Amon's terribly sincere eyes, their patience and generosity increased ten-fold. Amon had turned his back on the stairs at this latest show of brotherhood by the boys when the last opportunity began to descend.

"Hey," spoke one of the boys in a hushed tone. "Look. There's a perfect chance. We don't want to be out here all night. So take this one or give our money back."

Their money? No. Amon knew that money was belonged to him. And Robin of course.

Resolutely set, he spun around to face the challenge. He sacrificed his pride and pushed his head between the target's breasts. His head moved rapidly left to right and from his mouth came forth a slightly muffled sound of 'lubba-lubba-lubba-lubba'. His part of the agreement fulfilled he pulled away fully intent of apologizing profusely to the woman before him.

He stared up at wide bottle-green eyes that were staring at him.

Generous, sacrificing, noble Amon decided then that all of the money belonged to Robin.

- end -

A/N: *oro* That was…. wrong. Very wrong…


	6. ON BIND, OR A MAN

Disclaimer: I only own the shame of writing that last Omake Theater…

A/N: Che! It was the end of the semester and thus I had my lazy ass whipped by last minute deadlines and the like. Sorry about the lack of updating. This one may be a bit short, but another chapter will be up very soon.

Meant to Live

by ShiroKitsune

Chapter 6 : Strength of a Woman

Amon was not a morning person. Or at least not during the first ten minutes of morning. In fact, if you were to administer a small IQ test to him in those first ten minutes, most likely the results would list him as being on par with a tomato, or perhaps a rutabaga. Amon was aware of his waking deficiencies and had successfully hidden them by making sure he was the earliest to rise. He had come to a point where an alarm, while in the presence of another person, was utterly unnecessary. A kind of sixth sense for when it was time to wake up had developed in him as a result. It was because of this that Amon arose at 6:18 the next morning, without use of an alarm. 

His awakening was not a gentle float back to consciousness but rather an abrupt jerk that would have been quite uncomfortable for anyone other than him. Indeed, his awakening was uncomfortable to him as well, but his years of waking that way had made him somewhat used to the uncomfortable feeling and general haziness of waking. It was then short work for him to fight his way out of bed, allow the tangled sheets to fall vanquished to the floor, and still with eyes closed, grab his clothes and shuffle to the bathroom.

Amon's shower took exactly 5.43 minutes with the water at 168 degrees Fahrenheit. He stepped out of the shower, left foot first and wrapped the towel more securely around his waist. It took Amon exactly 2.14 minutes to dress. Remove towel from waist and hang over shower curtain. Black boxers, enter left leg first. Then black pants, enter right leg first. Then pull on a dark gray wife-beater. Finally a black shirt to complete the outfit. Run hands though hair to remove tangles. Then gather old clothes and return to room.

It takes Amon at least ten minutes to fully awaken. The trip to and from the bathroom totaled 1.16 minutes. This left Amon with 1.27 minutes to awaken. As Amon neared the room, he was accosted by Zakuro and told shortly that breakfast would be ready in five minutes. It only took Zakuro .42 minutes to relay this information before walking off. 

So, using mathematics, one can easily see that Amon was still not fully awake when he returned to the room he was sharing with Robin. Indeed, Amon would still be asleep for .85 minutes or fifty seconds more. How then can we really blame him for what occurred next? For all intents and purposes, at that moment, Amon's brain, and a zucchini were interchangeable.

It took Amon .58 minutes from that point to return his clothes to their appropriate location. Then he turned to the other task at hand.

"Robin," Amon said sharply into the silence of the room. "Wake up. Breakfast is in five minutes."

It took Robin .17 minutes to startle awake and fully upright. The remaining .1 minute was spent as Amon blankly stared at Robin, and Robin, just as blankly, stared back. And then…

Amon woke up fully.

It would, of course, be beneath Amon's dignity to blush. And so we will say that he did not do so. And we shall also aver and swear upon our deaths, that he didn't manage a stuttered half-apology as he hurried out of the room.

Robin was staring rather despondently at her burgundy book. It had been nearly three hours since Amon had left with Zakuro to go shopping. Robin had spent the first hour and a half in the kitchen reading the paper, drinking tea, and listening to the cook and her assistant argue passionately about the merits of paprika verses crushed peppers. Eventually the heat of the kitchen and it's occupants grew to be too much for Robin and she retired to the study she and Amon had first come to. She had made her attempt to finish the paper there, but found her desire and concentration lacking. So she had fetched her unfailing relaxant and sat down with her burgundy book. She lifted the cover gently, careful to avoid pressure on the spine, lightly so not to crumble the edges of the brittle pages. Her eyes fell upon the image of the woman and the man. She traced the lines of the figures with her right hand onto her thigh. Then retraced them sharper with her nails. Again, sharper. Now the thumbnail, shade it in. Again the fingernail, retrace the details deeper. Add a little more pressure for the trees.

And then, a sharper pain, a wetness as skin breaks.

Then startled eyes fall upon the spot. There, in the black skirt, a slit continuing through the skin. It was a little cut. Almost not there.

And after all, black doesn't show blood.

Robin, snapped the book closed and sneezed at the decay thrown in the air by her violence. 

For a moment, she wanted the book to burn. She wanted free from the decay.

But there was no more freedom for her.

She was now tied to Amon and his will.

Liar.

What?

Amon is the one tied. Just like a watchdog.

I didn't ask him to watch me. He can leave if he desires.

He promised you death if you loose control.

…

A child's selfish request, no? A child's need and his freedom is the price.

No.

There is always a price, little Robin.

Robin.

…

Robin.

"Robin!" Amon said louder. He wanted so bad to grab her shoulders and shake her back to reality. To shake her until her eyes focused on him. She gasped and unclenched her fists as though throwing something away from her.

"Pack your things," Amon turned away. "We will be leaving after dinner." He walked out of the room before any reply could be made. Robin lifted her eyes to the immobile form of Zakuro leaning against the wall beside the door. Green and blue met for a moment. Just a moment, and Robin shivered. Zakuro cast her eyes from Robin to the burgundy book laying on the floor. Her eyes cataloged the length of Robin's skirt, pausing if ever so briefly, on the tiny slit made by Robin's nail. Without looking at the girl again, she turned and walked out the door.

Robin found her appetite, formerly so persistent, to be undeniably weak against the broken silence of Zakuro. The pale woman had simply taken, perhaps a dozen bites, of her meal, then suddenly stopped as another fork full neared her mouth. She said nothing, simply laying down her fork and covering her plate with a napkin. Robin's appetite took a sharp plunge at that point and as she glanced sideways, she noticed the similar effect on Amon.

Amon, impatient and still wary, broke the silence roughly.

"You said you had a place for us to go?" It was not a question.

"Mandarin," it was not an answer. "Follow me."

And once again, Robin found herself in the study. Zakuro had pulled out a map of Honshu, the main island of Japan. 

"Quite frankly," she said. "I would not even attempt to escape to Hokkaido, or Shikoku. We are here," she said and stuck a red tack in Matsuyama. She stuck another red tack in. "Nagira is here. Now Mandarin, is here," she stuck a green tack in Osaka. "Actually, he is in Amagasaki. But he will meet you when you get off the train." She paused for a moment and a wicked smile flitted across her features. She stabbed two dozen white tacks into the map. "These are the secondary hideouts." Robin's mouth opened in disbelief. Zakuro smirked and grabbed a handful more of black tacks. She stabbed another couple of dozen tacks in the map. "These, are satellite locations. Last resorts."

She paused for a moment, then tore the map from the tacks. She crumpled it viciously and tossed it into the fireplace.

"Robin," she barked. Robin startled.

She wanted her to light the map? With her fire?

Robin looked pleadingly at Amon. He was staring evenly at Zakuro.

And so, Robin lit the map.

Whatever thoughts Amon may have had, as he eyed Zakuro, scattered with that flash of fire. He turned to Robin, about to rebuke her for her act when he stopped.

Her arms were wrapped around herself and her brows contracted in pain. As he turned toward her, she flinched and took a step away from him. He stopped and opened his mouth.

"Why?" He asked. The rest remained unspoken.

"The map needed destroyed so that the network would be safe," Zakuro spoke, answering the wrong question. Amon looked at her in irritation then tried to catch Robin's eye again. Her slim shoulders were pulled up as she hunched in on herself, protecting herself from... what? Was she really afraid of him? Did she really think he would hurt her?

His hand was moving through the air before he knew its path. He lightly rested his hand on the crown of her head. Her eyes jerked upward and captured his for a moment before he turned to look at Zakuro. His hand stroked down the side of her head to rest comfortably on her shoulder.

"We are ready to leave," he said. Zakuro watched coolly for a moment. Her broken eyes again measured the pair before her. The equations, the values shifted, and she nodded. She walked up to Robin and grabbed the fire-user's hand. She placed a cellular phone in her palm and wrapped her fingers around it.

"If anything happens, you can reach me using this," Zakuro released her hand.

"You aren't coming with us?" Robin asked. That wicked bitter smile reappeared on Zakuro's face. She turned and looked out the window at the late afternoon sun.

"That would be, at this time, quite unwise." Zakuro lifted her chin slightly.

"Are you… running?" Robin asked. Amon looked at her curiously, then with the realization that his hand was still on her, removed it and stepped away. Zakuro lifted her eyes to him and though it may have been a trick of the light, it seemed as though a hint of emotion, of amusement, flashed through them. Robin, confused by his actions stepped away.

"Ah, the hunt is on." She laughed. "They are coming tonight." Robin walked to the window and placed her hands imploringly on the glass. Zakuro came to stand beside her. The pair stayed silent long after Amon left to gather the bags.

"How long… are they all witches?" Robin asked looking at the lights in the apartments and the people along the alley.

"No," Zakuro sighed. "Some are unfortunates, some are witches, and some are merely plants."  
"Plants?"

"Sympathizers. Humans who understand witches. They help keep the secret of those at 'dulcis domus'."

"'dulcis domus?'"

"Ah, domus, dulcis domus," Zakuro smiled. "Home, sweet home." She turned around as Amon entered the room. "Are you ready?"

He nodded and looked to Robin. She looked again at the pale woman beside her then nodded. Zakuro, her face again a blank mask, walked out of the room, with Amon and Robin following quickly. She led them through the building until they reached the basement. She stopped before a heavily locked wooden door and sighed. Her hand dipped down the front of her dress and pulled out a key. It was quick work to unlock the door. Robin shivered as she followed.

Once again she was escaping through a tunnel. Heading into the unknown.

A sleek black sedan sat at the other end of the tunnel. Zakuro opened the door and spoke to the driver. She looked at Amon questioningly and he nodded then climbed inside. Robin was about to follow when Zakuro reached out and placed her hand on Robin's cheek. Robin stopped and looked wide-eyed as Zakuro's face moved dangerously close to hers. When the two women were only breaths apart, Zakuro spoke.

"ne cede malis, nil desperandum. rara avis, nolens volens, quaere verum," she said and stepped back quickly. "Get going. Mandarin will know what to do."

"What? What did you say?"

"Go to Mandarin," Zakuro looked away. Robin lifted the edge of her black skirt and slid into the sedan.

After all, black doesn't show blood.

ne cede malis, nil desperandum. rara avis, nolens volens, quaere verum -(Rough Translation)- Do not give in to misfortune, do not despair. Rare bird, whether willing or unwilling, seek the truth

A/N: Next chapter we get some action!

Q & A session and thanks ahead:

DragonLordess - Actually, the picture in her book is quite important and him holding his hand out to her and helping her up was important. It wasn't the "funny metaphor" but it will come into play later on. 

j.b Raven - My apologies about your monitor. I cannot say I have had the pleasure of doing the same. Your review brought a little grin to my face and a little flush of happiness. Anytime a reaction is felt in the gut, whether positive or negative, is a strong response and a sign of success.

Yumeko, Priestess of Dreams - My apologies for your tea. I'm glad to hear the story is still keeping your interest. I can't guarantee future Omake Theaters will be as funny. But I will try to make them so.

Weirdo's Rule - Thank you for sticking with me and my little story so long. Who doesn't love Robin x Amon? I pity those fools.

VG Terra - I think you may be my oldest reader. I thank you for keeping with me and letting me know what you like and don't like. I adore the Amon x Robin pairing. I truly cannot see either of them with anyone else.

PomegranateQueen - It's good to hear that you like the symbolism. I tend to use it in most, if not all, of my writing quite heavily. As for Omake, don't worry, not all will be so wrong as that. I have some intentions for several 'G' rated ones.

Toadsly - hugs I love your reviews (I believe I tell you that almost every time I see you, no?). Thank you for telling me so specifically what you liked and didn't like. I'm going to send you a copy of "Playing Me" (my novel [wickedly unfinished]) sometime soon. There is a lot of imagery in that and it features very strongly my 'Sarcasta-bitch' voice.

keistje, Pline, Ramen Noodles, ChocolateEclar, Avid, yamiyumetenshi, Inu-Aisuru, Rashaka, silverpuppy99, Rageful Jewel, just4ubaby, VenusDeOmnipotent, Elyndewen Startree, ladyeclipse, Trekgirl01, Jen23, xXxMysticalDreamerxXx, mokusei, Da Freak, Seed-of-Flame, Puni Puni, Mini Nicka, AllHart, punkchick16, Shigure's lover, Cali1043, Insane Dragoness, mikoxhanyou, Sorrow in Shadow, infinite entropy, Riz-chan, RedWolf, Hanako110, alesca munroe and others, InuGurl2188, Querida, Sarah Kerrigan, Paris, LionHeart823, Marikalay, Crystal, Bana, Angel in the Night, and everyone else who's read: 

Thank you very much for your support and reviews. I sincerely appreciate each and every one of them and I thank you for taking the time to tell me what you thought. I hope the story continues to hold your interest. All loves!


	7. MAN BORN IN ADO

Disclaimer: Denial, it's not just a river in Egypt.

A/N: Damn is seriously tweaking with my formatting. Anger. My car is breaking again. My grades were not what I expected and I have no money. sigh Also, I am unsure as to the Japanese train system. I expect that the trains probably resemble subway systems. However, for this chapter, envision a western train, with cars and the like.

Meant to Live

by ShiroKitsune

Chapter 7 : MAN BORN IN ADO

I was always told that certain things in life are inevitable, are laws. That which goes up, must eventually come back down. An object in motion tends to remain in motion unless acted upon by an outside force. Gravity exerts a force which draws to itself.

Perhaps then, one could say, that gravity is a force of laziness. The river takes the path of least resistance. A ball sitting atop a slanted board, no matter how slight the slant, will be drawn inexorably downwards. This pull toward the Earth is quickly discovered and treasured by the young in the form of a slide. Such a simple joy. Climb to the top of the ladder. Sit down, and let the Earth take you on a ride.

Simply the path of least resistance.

That path is so easily followed. Not just gravity. Allow a river to run through a rock bed and eventually the rock will cut into a canyon. An obelisk placed in the desert will eventually become the very sands it is prey to. Water flows downward and around rocks. A tree grows around the fence abutting it. And two people, over time, their emotions and attitudes rubbing against each other, wear down the walls between them. It takes so little to stop that slide toward oneness. A simple word, a single action, can stop the erosion, can begin to reverse the effects. Yet the change is so gradual, how does one even come to notice it? And why would you always wish to stop the change?

Nonsense. One would have to notice the change first.

It had been a gradual shifting of bodies. Slowly, imperceptibly, Robin's legs drew up onto the bench beside her and her head leaned back. Her eyes closed like a sunset and her breathing deepened. Amon had watched the shift from the corner of his eye. The book he held in his left hand had long since ceased the turning of its pages. That shifting of his eye was minute, and yet was enough to cause his body to follow. A tiny shift on his part, a slight shift on hers, and then their bodies touched lightly at the hip and shoulder. Two objects leaning against one another, holding and supporting.

The light tension on Robin's face melted away as she fell asleep. Ever since the incident with the map, she had been, edgy and more withdrawn. As she slept, the tension fled and her face took on an almost unearthly calm. She shifted again and her head slowly lowered to his shoulder. At the sudden contact, Amon nearly moved away. One thin hand snaked around his arm before his mind could fully process what was occurring.

What did it matter? They were both tired anyway.

Slowly, curiously, Amon's eyes traced Robin's form. One hand gently but firmly around his arm. Her cheek lay lightly on his shoulder. Her soft coral lips were parted just the tiniest bit and her soft golden lashes rested innocently on her cheeks. His eyes traveled downward along the sweetly curved sweetheart neckline of her orchid colored shirt. Her skin was so pale, he could see the delicate blue veins that lie beneath. He followed the curve of her waist to where her shirt had ridden up slightly, exposing a thin strip of pale flesh. The skirt was so black that it removed all small lines of definition and became an unbroken black mass until it reached her boots. His eyes snapped back up to the skirt. There, was… what? A cut?

Yes. There, a tear in the skirt and a corresponding slice in the skin. As he watched, her hand came up to rest on the same spot, her hand falling perfectly into the cut. Amon's arm reached out and grabbed her hand away quickly. Her body, deprived of its previous prop, slid further against him until her head rested on his chest. Amon lay her hand down and let his arm rest on her shoulders.

They were both tired.

* * *

Robin woke with a decidedly warm and comfortable feeling coursing through her body. She wriggled closer toward the pervasive warmth and sighed contentedly. Her pillow smelled like rich cologne and with a hint of gun smoke. And then… her pillow breathed. Her eyes bolted wide open before the bright light caused her to wince and squint.

An arm was draped comfortably over her shoulder and Robin slowly opened her eyes to look at it, and then to the body to which it was attached. Amon had his right arm over Robin's shoulders, and his left arm holding a book on his lap. His face was calm and his eyes focused lightly on his book. At her startled movement, he looked down at her, suppressing a smile as she blushed and sat up, moving away from him. Her mouth opened, preparing for a stammered apology.

"Are you hungry?" he asked before she could speak. Surprised, Robin could only nod in reply. He stood and reached for their bags. "We should take our bags with us, just in case," he continued without looking at her. She nodded once again, not thinking that he couldn't see it. He turned back and looked down at her expectantly. She stood unaided and stretched tight limbs.

It was strange, Robin thought, following Amon down the hall. She could swear she could still feel his arm around her shoulders and his heartbeat beneath her ear. The rush of his breath in and out, ruffling her hair, comforted and relaxed her. She could have lain like that for hours. Amon was, surprisingly warm.

_It's just nerves from the Factory _

He led her to the dining car in silence, each carrying their own bag. They had slipped their bags beneath their table when they sat down and began looking at the menu. They had sat in silence for several minutes. The dining car was packed nearly full. They had been lucky enough to get a booth without waiting but had yet to have their order taken. Instead they were sitting, sipping ice water, and ignoring the uncomfortable silence as best as possible.

"Who is it that we're going to see?" Robin asked.

"I don't think this is the place to discuss that kind of thing," Amon's eyes darted nervously around. His posture was oddly relaxed but his eyes held a great nervousness. Robin cast about for another topic in vain. She realized, sadly, that outside of work topics, she had never really spoken to Amon before.

"Pardon us," a voice interrupted. Both Robin and Amon looked up to see a pair of young men, casually dressed, standing at the end of their booth. "There really isn't any other place to sit and we were wondering if you would mind us joining you." Amon looked at the taller of the two men, the one who had spoken, and then looked around the dining car. The man's words seemed to be true. The car was packed quite tightly, and, finding no good excuse for denying the request, Amon found little else to do but agree. He nodded tightly and slid out from his seat. The men looked questioningly at him but stepped back to give him room. Robin looked up at him then slid over to make room. Amon sat then slid his hand quietly into his pocket.

"Nagamuna Tsuyoshi," said the taller, more vocal, man as he sat down and extended his hand across the table. After an unresponsive moment in which Amon only nodded, he retracted it. His shorter and silent partner sat down next and introduced himself as Nagamuna Akito.

"My name is Amon," Amon spoke shortly. "This is Robin."

"No last names?" Tsuyoshi asked teasingly.

"Kimihara," Amon said.

"And you Robin?" Tsuyoshi asked.

"Kimihara. She is my wife." Amon interrupted. Robin looked down at the table and blushed. For a moment, her racing thoughts stopped her from recognizing the press of cool metal against her hand. She looked at her hand to see a soft gold ring being pressed to her palm. She closed her hand around it quickly and looked back up. The brothers were looking at her and she offered a shy little smile as she slid the ring on under the table.

"I'm sure you made quite the lovely bride," the younger brother, Akito, said. Amon lifted his gaze to the boy. Their eyes held steady for long moments before Akito flushed and looked away. He could not bear the fierce stare of the ex-hunter.

"Are you on honeymoon?" Tsuyoshi asked.

"No," Amon said.

"Heading home?"

"No."

"We're going to visit our parents. They live in Osaka," Tsuyoshi offered, nonplused by Amon's apparent unsociability.

"You don't have an Osaka accent."

"We were born in Hokkaido. We're on break from work to visit. We work for the Tokiota Company. Have you heard of it?"

"I believe so. Engineering, correct?" Amon said politely. Something about these men set him on edge. Robin was merely sitting with her head down and her ears alert.

"Yes," Tsuyoshi confirmed. "Tokiota Engineering. Where do you work?" The question was abrupt. Almost hurried.

"Pioneer," Amon said without hesitation.

"Electronics, correct?" Amon nodded. "So how long have you been married?"

"Two months," Amon said. Robin could feel his unease growing and she tried to think of a way out of the situation. Gently she reached over and laid her warm hand on his cold one.

"Amon," she said quietly, "I don't feel very well." She lifted one hand and pinched the bridge of her nose. Amon reached out and pulled her hand away from her eyes. His gaze was piercing, sending a chill down her spine and a tightening in her chest. He looked at her for a moment more, then stood, bringing her up with him. He turned to the two surprised brothers.

"I apologize, but my wife is not feeling well. I'm afraid we have to retire for the evening." He grabbed their bags and put both over his left shoulder.

"Of course," Tsuyoshi murmured. "It was nice to meet you."

"I hope your wife feels better," Akito added with sincerity. Amon nodded.

"Ah, yes. Thank you," he said and proceeded to walk out of the dining car with his right arm wrapped around his 'wife.'

"At the next stop, we are getting off," he whispered in her ear. His tone was all business, that of a serious hunter.

And yet, as they walked down the hallway and back to their room, even though there was no more need for their married pretense; Amon's arm remained wrapped around the girl beside him.

* * *

It was supposed to have been simple. Amon and Robin would disembark at the next stop, then decide how best to either get to Osaka, or contact Zakuro. They would then continue as planned.

There is another law observed in the world. A law of physics perhaps, or maybe a law of statistics. Though not a formal law, it is regarded as such, if jokingly, by millions of people. Murphy's Law says in its own inimitable way, "Whatever can go wrong, will go wrong."

The plan of Amon and Robin was supposed to be easy. It was supposed to be simple.

That which can go wrong, will go wrong.

The gunshot had come from dangerously close as the pair moved toward the exit. The trained reflexes of the hunter, manifested in Amon as he dove forward to cover and protect Robin.

"Go," he said and reached for his gun. It was no longer an orbo gun that he carried, but a standard 10mm, Auto Glock 29. He pushed Robin ahead of him and scanned the milling and hysteric people for any sign of the gunman. He pushed her into the car ahead and followed quickly. They were nearly to the end of the car when a door, midway down, opened and the Nagamuna brothers stepped out.

"There they are," Akito said in a loud and excited voice.

"Oi," Tsuyoshi called out. "Come on with us."

Another shot rang down the hall. It hit the wall beside them, spraying the pair with fragments of wood and metal. Before the last slivers fell to the floor, Amon and Robin had escaped the cart and jumped from the quickly slowing train. Their bodies rolled to a stop on the dew soaked ground. For endless moments, they lay motionless and panting with the water slowly soaking into their clothes. Robin's hand crept into her pocket and pulled out the case containing her glasses. She opened it silently and slipped the half moon glasses on. She scanned the darkness with her eyes and ears. She slowed her racing heart and held her breath.

The next bullet that came flying toward them was incinerated fifteen feet away. Robin was prepared to fight. Yet, oddly, it was Amon who grabbed her arm and pulled her back into the woods. Their flight was rough, clumsy, and made more precipitous on Robin's part by her loose skirt and heeled boots.

"I should have… changed… into those jeans… and shoes back… on the train," she gasped out as she tripped and fell once again against Amon. Once again he caught and steadied her before plunging forward again.

"We'll stop soon," Amon said. "Just hold on a little longer. We'll call Zakuro when we stop. I want some information." Robin nodded and hurried her steps. When she started to fall behind again, Amon reached back and took her left hand in his right.

"Not to much farther," Amon assured her. "Not to much longer."

Robin looked at the ring shining lightly in the moonlight.

Her right hand worried the cell phone in her pocket, then she slipped her glasses off and put them away. There was no enemy to fight now.

They didn't have much farther to go.

* * *

A/N: Che! It's 1:44 am and I can't get to sleep. Plus I hurt my arm earlier and I have to take my car to get inspected at 8 am. This isn't my day. Oh well. Omake Theater is coming in the next chapter.

All loves!


	8. MANDARIN BOON

Disclaimer: I, as always, have nothing but bills, a broken car, and some less than legal music, software, and anime.

A/N: I have the wicked urge to slap the idiots who changed 's editing rules. No more asterisk ? And no more double backslash. Ugh. Sorry about the (horrid) delay as well. My car needs wicked repairs, we're short handed at work, my best friend moved, I'm trying to secure my loans for next semester, and did I mention my car senses whenever I have a little surplus of money and breaks correspondingly? It's a little bit stressful. My world is constantly crumbling around me. At the moment I am without a car. Without money. With tons of schoolwork and a cold I just can't shake. Ah well. Enjoy the update. Feel free to harass the hell out of me on AIM and ICQ for more chapters. All loves.

Meant to Live

by ShiroKitsune

Chapter 8 : MANDARIN BOON

It appeared as though Robin and Amon were making a habit of standing tired, confused, and wary in the home of a complete stranger who they were supposed to trust to protect and hide them. This time, however, there was due cause for their stress and wariness. Though no bullet had managed to pierce either one's flesh during their frantic escape from the train, the bullets had done well nigh irreparable damage to their nerves. Robin trembled in exhaustion beside Amon. Her entire body felt raw and aching. The flight had not been easy for her. Her hands and feet bore the markings of her difficulties.

They were only made to stand for a moment before their newest contact, Mandarin, forced them both down on a cushy cream sofa and began barking out orders in Chinese to a pair of sulky looking brothers. The pair rolled their eyes and shuffled out of the room.

"I am pleased to meet you. Zakuro was quite concerned over the trouble you encountered. I am Mandarin," the small man spoke with only the faintest hint of an accent and extended his hand toward the pair. After a few moments of unresponsiveness, he retracted his hand and shrugged. "I had heard that you came from Europe."

"Yes," Robin replied. "I am from Italy. Robin Sena." She held out her hand to Mandarin. He took it gently and brought it to his lips.

"I have noticed that you Europeans are a more - warm- people. Especially the Italians." He smiled at her soft innocent blush. "And you, sir?" Mandarin turned smoothly to Robin's sullen partner.

"Amon," came the reply, crisp and clipped.

"You are not European," Mandarin said. "I had thought that you both were European. You have a western air to you. Perhaps you do business there?"

Amon's eye darted to Robin's face for a moment. Her head was down, her hair obscuring her features. "On occasion," Amon admitted.

"I enjoy quite a few of the European customs. They certainly sleep very comfortably and I am terribly fond of Italian cuisine."

"How safe is this location," Amon asked abruptly.

"Quite safe," Mandarin sighed. "In fact, this is, other than 'Dulcis Domus,' the safest location in Japan."

"Dulcis Domus?"

"Ah, Zakuro's home. It means 'Sweet Home'. It is now, at least, a name which is spoken quite 'tongue in cheek'. Dulcis Domus, and my own place 'Chaang Mung' are the two safest places you could possibly hide."

"Chaang Mung?"

"Ah, it means 'Orange Dream'. We all named our estates."

"So you could refer to them in code?"

"...Yes."

"Is that so?" There was a heavy silence over the room after Amon spoke with his disbelief plainly writ in his tone. It seemed, to him, that there would not be a need for such extravagant naming for something so simple as a code. The silence wound around the room, seeming to muffle the melodic ticking of the bamboo wall clock over the door. Mandarin shook his head as though to clear it.

"No. We named them so that we had identity. So that we had some sign, some proof, that even though we are fugitives and criminals to some, we are a family, with morals, and we have as much right to exist peacefully as anyone else. We will not stand for the wrongful persecution of the innocent. We deserve, as much as anyone else, to have happiness." His eyes had grown distant as he voiced his opinion. His gaze shifted slowly to a wicker table under a bay window on the far side of the room. Resting comfortably on the shining lacquered top were a dozen or so photographs in a jumble of frames. He recognized his brother in a few shots, as well as Zakuro and Mandarin, and there were two others, a man and a woman who were unfamiliar.

The man appeared half Asian and half European. He had the clean smooth features and soft androgyny that spoke of his Asian ancestry but with a sharper profile, brow, and muscles of an European. His eyes were a curious mix as well. They were only slightly slanted and were a rich chocolate brown. His hair was long and dark, nearly black, the ends cut straight across. And in every picture he was in with Zakuro, he stood beside or behind her with his arms wrapped around her. Both had smiles on their faces and her eyes were a clear blue.

_This building, this network, they were all a gift... a gift from my friend, the witch. _

The woman was a small soft bodied Korean woman with a rosebud mouth and large, warm and droopy eyes. Her hair and clothes were immaculate and her teeth were even and white. There was not hint of meanness or pettiness to her. She too was smiling in every shot and stood always beside Mandarin. Although the two did not touch, as Zakuro and the other man, they stood oriented toward one another in an obvious show of togetherness.

Mandarin noted Amon looking at the photos and stood up quickly.

"I apologize. You have had a long night and must be tired. I will show you to your rooms," Mandarin said with a weak smile.

"Is that-"Amon began to ask but was cut off sharply.

"I have two guest rooms for you. They share a bathroom between them. There should be clothes in both rooms as well as toiletries in the bathroom. Come with me." The old man's voice was commanding and firm. There would be no explanations for the pictures forthcoming. Amon shrugged one shoulder and turned to his silent partner. She was sleeping on the sofa, still upright, in a position that appeared nearly impossible and impossibly painful. Mandarin turned to look at the sleeping girl as well.

"Ah, I shall have Lao take her to her room. I suppose our little briefing could have waited." Mandarin turned to the slightly ajar door to the hallway. "La-"

"Don't bother," Amon's voiced stopped him. Mandarin turned to see the dark, brooding man cradling the sleeping girl in his arms. There was no change in his expression, nor in his voice; but in his stance, and his gentle hold, his care was laid bare. It seemed, to Mandarin, a sight oddly familiar, though he could not place his finger upon the reason.

"Sir," one of the brother's entered the room and broke the pensive quiet. "Did you call?"

"Jun. I was going to call for Lao. Could you take their things to the Orange rooms."

"Are you putting the girl in... her room?"

"Yes."

"Am I to expect any more guests tonight?"

"No."

"And what if she comes?"

"She won't be coming tonight. Now take their things up to the rooms. This is not open for discussion," Mandarin said.

"There is another set of connecting rooms on the west side of the house. Perhaps you would rather I placed-"

"No," Mandarin snapped impatiently. "That's enough. Take their bags up to the Orange rooms, then meet me in the kitchen. We need to have a talk."

Jun bowed stiffly and snatched up the pair's bags. "This way," he snapped. Amon followed with calculating eyes. Just before they crossed the threshold out of the room, Mandarin called out to him.

"I will send someone up with breakfast around ten. I have some business to attend to so feel free to wander the grounds at your leisure." Amon nodded and his eyes were still half lidded and calculating. "Chaang Mung is quite safe and you have nothing to fear here." Amon huffed lightly and walked out the door briskly to catch up to Jun.

_Damn Nagira. What have you gotten me into? _

* * *

At precisely 10 am there was a sharp knock on the door of Amon's room. He sat up abruptly and with eyes unclouded by sleep.

"Yes," Amon said simply as his permission to enter. His voice was slightly rough with sleep and he startled himself for a moment by the sound. The door opened smoothly followed by a large tray of food and following the tray, one of the two brothers from the night before, although Amon could not recall which one. The young man glided into the room and set the tray gently on the small dining table near the door.

"I apologize. I did not mean to wake you," the brother said with his back half turned on the hunter.

"I was reading," Amon lied, his mind still fuzzy from sleep. He decided long ago that waking up in the morning was a far more trying task than any witch he had ever to hunt. The young man cast an almost careless glance at the hunter and Amon felt his muscles tense.

"Hm," the boy said and began to unload some of the contents of the tray. The boy made Amon nervous. He was certain that the boy saw that no book was anywhere in site.

"We were unable, I believe, to introduce formally last night. You met my brother Jun, I am Lao."

Lao's movements were purposefully loose and unthreatening.

"I certainly would have rested after an evening like that," Lao continued conversationally. "I am sure Miss Robin is still asleep. Her room was quite quiet as I passed. I doubt she would even be up reading."

"Observant of you," Amon said coldly. Lao smiled again disarmingly.

"Ah, well, it is how I was trained." Lao bowed respectfully. "I apologize for cutting our conversation short but I must take breakfast over to Miss Robin as well. I am afraid I will have to wake her. I hope her sleep was pleasant enough." He began to lift his tray in his arms. Amon wondered if he could be trusted around Robin. Could this boy be a danger with his warrior's grace.

_Amon kicked the damp terrycloth and cursed Robin leaving a towel on the floor until he looked up and saw her bare shoulders above the sheets._

_She slept naked._

Amon started from his bed and caught Lao's arm before he left the room.

"Leave her breakfast here," he said. "I'll take it in to her. Don't go into her room." Lao looked at him, startled then nodded his head.

"Ah," Lao said. "I see. My apologies. I shall not enter the lady's room." Lao nodded again. "I meant no disrespect. I shall come back for the tray later then." Lao slipped quickly from the room and moved down the hall.

Amon pressed two cool fingers to his brow and frowned. He walked to Robin's door and rapped sharply three times. "Robin," he called, certain of her attention, "I will be back in five minutes with breakfast. Be ready."

He turned and walked back to his room to dress for the day. He could hear, through the wall, the fumbling of Robin's attempts to do the same. It was something, impolite, to spur the half formed images in his mind of sheets sliding off skin. The caress of hair over shoulders as one leans forward to dress.

Amon shook his head. He still had 2.34 minutes of rebellious thoughts before he fully awoke. He decided, he would need to pick up an alarm clock.

* * *

A/N: Okay. I wanted to hurry and finish this one for you guys. Once again, I am so (trust me) sorry about the wait. My world is in shambles right now. Just harass me for more. And forgive me my impertinence. I promise Omake Theatre in the next chapter. All Loves.


	9. A BRAND IN MONO

Disclaimer: Below me

A/N: Another apology from me as always. I've been very busy with both school, work, an evil car, and production. Since I'm not on a set schedule, it's sometimes hard for me to get new chapters out. I'm trying to keep up with everything I do as best I can. No Omake this time. Sorry. I know I promised it last time, but just do without for now. I'm also working on Omake Theater Visual Session. It's Omake in the form of a comic strip. So if I get my site up, it will be there. I'll let you know. K?

Meant to Live

by ShiroKitsune

Chapter 9 : A BRAND IN MONO

Amon kicked the folded blankets at the end of the bed sulkily. He knew it didn't matter if they fell off the bed. Tomorrow morning Lao would be in to bring breakfast and neaten the room. In fact, Amon could probably tell the schedule of everyone the next day within 10 minutes of accuracy.

Lao would come in at 9 am with breakfast for Amon and Robin, leaving both trays in the room. He would then go down to the kitchen to get Mandarin's breakfast of either a few pieces of fruit, or toast with jam, depending on the day. Lao would come back and retrieve the trays then spend the rest of the morning handling routine correspondence aside from another trip to the kitchen for Mandarin's mid morning snack and Robin.

Jun's day starts earlier, at 8 am when he went to the control room and turned on all of the surveillance cameras and unlocked the front and back doors for house traffic. He would then take the visitor count and daily food plans to Haru for the lunch and dinner specifications to be made. He would spend the rest of his morning in surveillance of the property and scanning information for friendly witches.

Haru, the house cook, would start his day at 6. He would fix a buffet breakfast for the household visitors and staff. Then he would make up trays for Amon, Robin, and Mandarin. He would begin on preparations for lunch and dinner while waiting for Robin and Lao to come down. He would talk with Robin and continue basic preparations until Jun came down with the food count. Lao would follow within a half hour to pick up Mandarin's snack and Robin. The two would depart and Haru would finish making a simple lunch.

It was quite impressive to know so well the routines of the household. And knowing them would have brought Amon a little sense of pride if it were not for one little fact. He didn't learn any of this on his own. It seemed that the quiet and polite little Robin had a knack for information gathering. She didn't have to try.

Robin started her morning shortly after 9 when Amon woke her up. She would eat with Amon then help take the dishes with Lao to Haru. She would spend an hour listening to Haru tell her stories and current events before accompanying Lao with midmorning snacks to Mandarin in the garden where she would sit and talk until lunch. There was another stretch in mid afternoon where she would return to Haru and his stories. And thus it was that all of the current information known to Mandarin, Lao, and Haru, came quickly to Robin's ears. Information she would pass on to Amon after dinner.

She didn't even have to try, a fact Amon found decidedly unfair.

And now here he was, awake at 4 in the morning pondering all of the information Robin had been given by Mandarin, Haru, Lao, and gleaned from Jun.

It had been four days since Amon had managed to get a full night of sleep. In fact, the last four nights had been spent lying in bed desperately trying to suppress the hunter instincts that kept him awake as people roamed the halls throughout the night.

He blamed Zakuro.

And he worried because she was over a week late in arriving.

Her lateness was at first passed off. After all, she could have been delayed, or tossing Solomon off of her tail. But the act of ignoring her absence had been becoming more and more difficult for the house to do. Now the brothers, Mandarin, and Haru, had been taking turns staying awake at night waiting for her and more often than not, the brothers took to pacing the hall, and subsequently keeping Amon awake.

This was the fourth night of Amon laying awake because of the brothers' pacing.

It would also be the last.

A bone jarring crash sounded through the house causing Amon to bolt up with heart racing.

Amon was halfway to the door before he realized that something had happened. Footsteps pounded down the hall accompanied by rapid Chinese and one word he recognized, 'Zakuro.' He hurried out of the room and followed one of the brothers, was it Jun, down the hall and eventually to the kitchen.

Amon decided it had been good that he had recognized the word Zakuro, because he doubted he would have recognized the girl. At least not until the blood had been washed off.

Was it Jun, or Lao, who had said Zakuro threw a mean punch?

How mean must the other guy's punch been?

There was no deference to modesty in their movements. Lao tore the shirt from her body. The shirt and the horrible half dried blood that had run down her shoulder from the gunshot wound.

Amon would know it was her first. Robin said that Zakuro had never been injured badly before. She was too smart, too tactically inclined.

It would be her first scar.

A gasp rose from his side and Amon looked down at a wide eyed Robin, then back to Zakuro. Haru had a towel, wet and steaming, proffered to Mandarin who knelt in front of the girl with his mouth working hurried sentences in English.

"He's telling her" Amon began to translate but Robin cut him off.

"it's okay. Are you hurt anywhere else? Close your eyes not. Take a breath with care" Robin finished.

Mandarin cleaned the blood and spoke calmingly to the girl. Jun tore into the room with a first aid kit and towels and a wild look on his face.

"It's okay. Are you hurt anywhere" Mandarin asked.

"Mandarin" Zakuro asked and he sat up sharply.

"Yes"

"Doko wa? Where is Era"

Mandarin and the rest of the men froze dead in their places. Haru walked up Zakuro and took her good hand. She lifted it to her face and closed her eyes. Two trails of tears started down her face and she sighed.

"He should be here" she choked out.

"Aa, he should" Haru agreed and nodded to Mandarin to continue.

No one spoke after that.

Amon grabbed Robin's hand and took her back to her room.

It would be her first scar.

* * *

It had been two days since Zakuro had appeared, bleeding from a gunshot wound.

Amon had hurried Robin away from the kitchen where Zakuro had been being tended. Robin had abruptly altered her routine upon Zakuro's return. She no longer spent her morning going from place to place but rather started out her morning eating with Amon, then she went directly to Zakuro's room where she would stay until lunchtime, just watching the woman, and pacing about until Mandarin came to chase her out for lunch. After lunch, Robin had taken to staying in the kitchen and helping Haru to prepare dinner.

Perhaps her routine was not so different except for one thing. Robin had nearly stopped speaking. She would answer any question posed to her, but shortly.

She was standing now in Zakuro's room, midmorning as usual. However, this time she had company. It had been suggested by Mandarin that Zakuro be woken up and now Robin, Amon, Lao, Haru, and Mandarin were all standing close to the foot of Zakuro's bed discussing ways of awakening her. Each person, excepting Robin and Amon, had a widely varying idea to accomplish the task and each person was adamant about their idea.

Perhaps it was the argument, steadily rising in volume that did it. Or maybe somehow the woman possessed a sense for what was occurring and took it upon herself to stop the dissention. Whatever the reason, the outcome was surprising to all in the room. Instead of waiting for someone's idea to win out, Zakuro woke herself up, cussing.

Now Robin, being the kind of girl that she was, was not familiar with all of the curses being spewed in both English, Japanese, and German from the pale woman. Amon, however being the kind of man he was, was familiar with nearly all of the expressions although a few of the English ones and most of the German ones escaped him. Haru, having the best command of English out of all of them, and also having known Zakuro the longest was fully aware of the filthy nasty comments emanating from her lips and exactly what they meant. He also realized the point in which she stopped even saying real curses and began to make new ones up whole-cloth.

The fact she woke up cursing, while amusing, would not give much merit but for the fact that, when she woke up, she stunned every one in the room into stock still inactivity before Haru hurried over to her to keep her from moving to much and reopening her wound. He managed to get her settled back against the pillows, but too late. Hot wet blood had leaked through the bandages on her shoulder and had begun to stain the shirt over top.

Amon stood looking at the injured woman with typical cool eyes. If she could cuss like that, chances for her health were quite good as far as he was concerned. Though there was a strange flitting feeling up his spine and he couldn't help somehow feeling responsible for the woman's wound. Little of the story had emerged with her unconscious for so long, but the story threatened out of the man she had saved had definitely pointed to an organization with no ties to Solomon being involved. He remembered the brother's on the train and the gunshots as they fled. Had someone, somehow, infiltrated their things and found out where they were going? Was that the reason for the lack of pursuit as they fled to Mandarin? Did this other group already know about Mandarin, and Zakuro? But what was the reason for attacking her?

Solomon was after Zakuro.

Solomon was after Robin and Amon.

This other group was after Robin and Amon but this second group was not after Zakuro. So why would they shoot her? Or were they after the man? But what connection did the man have to them?

Amon rubbed the bridge of his nose. Insufficient evidence made his head hurt. And then upon that declaration of an impending migraine, came someone that Amon was positive would only worsen matters. Jun pushed his was into the room and passed Amon. A general dislike of the man, dislike at first sight, had blossomed since Amon had met Jun and was now a fully developed hatred. It started with the man's general standoffish and pushy behavior. His overall rudeness. And his obvious dislike and rude treatment of Robin that made Amon wonder if it really wouldn't be a gift to the world to put Jun out of commission. Permanently.

The story, and reason for Jun's behavior, somehow again ferreted out by Robin placed Jun no farther in Amon's graces. It turned out that Jun was in love with Zakuro.

The same Zakuro whose traditional room Robin was inhabiting. Whose friends Robin was befriending, and whose story Robin was slowly piecing together. The same Zakuro whose yukata now adorned Robin on her late night walks. Whose favorite foods were being served instead of Zakuro's favorites. It would seem, to someone unbalanced in love, that Robin was taking over Zakuro's existence. And Jun was hell bent of preventing that from ever occurring.

He muscled his way over to the bed and immediately began haranguing Mandarin for information. Haru took one look at Jun and shook his head lightly.

"I have to start dinner" he announced. He straightened for a moment, about to leave before he paused. His lips descended swiftly onto the forehead of the injured girl and she smiled in a warm, unusual way. He stood and smiled back.

"When you can sit at the table with everyone else" he spoke while walking to the door"I'll make you Chicken Parmigiana. Until then..." Haru trailed off and walked down the hall.

There was silence for several minutes as the group watched for her reaction.

"Oh, evil" Zakuro muttered. "Damn, now I want that."  
But Haru's last message brought pause to Mandarin. How long could he keep her, Amon, and Robin safe?  
"This has complicated the matter" Mandarin said. "I can't keep you all safe indefinitely." He nodded his head to himself and Zakuro scowled. Her eyebrows were knit, in pain or in annoyance, Amon would place his money on the latter.

"It's complicated nothing. I need two days. Two days and I can go with them" Zakuro said and clenched the fist on her good arm. The flesh on her palms dimpled in beneath her sharp nails.

"Two days" Jun said becoming upset. "You've been shot. More than that, you've been running around with the bullet **in** you shoulder for at least how long? Two days? Three"

Zakuro refused even to look at the ranting man, instead keeping her eyes solely on Mandarin. "Two days. That's all I need" Zakuro paused. "They are my responsibility. Just give me two days."

Robin shifted uncomfortably. Zakuro had yet to divulge the story of her injury but she had a feeling that whatever happened, happened because of her and Amon. Mandarin sighed and looked at Lao who was, at the moment, attempting to placate his brother. Lao closed his eyes for a moment.

"I can" Lao paused. His eyes reopened and met with Zakuro's eyes. "I can give you four days more absolute safety here. I can guarantee you four days."

A small sincere smile drew at Zakuro's lips. Her right hand reached up to lay softly on her wound. She looked over to Amon and Robin, standing quietly behind the brothers.

"The other group after you is called 'R3'. They are comprised of all witches." The smile remained on her face. Her hand brushed the bandages on her shoulder.

"They're armed."

* * *

A/N: Not much action this time or anything. Just background and some plot to move the story farther along. The action will pick up from here as Zakuro's story comes out along with the story of R3. I'm sorry for the wait and this chapter seems to me, unsatisfying. I like moral supports and was lacking. Plus I've been so busy. I cannot even relate it. Ah well. 


	10. BID MANOR ANON

Disclaimer: Thanks to Bath and Body Works Semi Annual Sale, I own more lotions than I need. Everything else… the same… 

A/N: I'm sorry. It will be done by August. ALL of it. I'm sorry for the enormous delay. You inspire me, shame me, leave me here to breathe.

Meant to Live by ShiroKitsune

Chapter 10 : BID MANOR ANON

"I could swear there is a special circle of hell just for oath breakers," Zakuro muttered and ran forward. Lao had guaranteed 4 days of safety. Chaang Mung was under attack in two. Fortunately for the wanted duo, Zakuro insisted that luggage be packed at all times in case of an attack. The wound in her shoulder throbbed frantically with her heartbeat. Running was not a usual occurrence for her, and was one she was distinctly becoming resentful of. Amon ran easily to her left and Robin trotted on her right. Neither was winded, although Robin's breaths were coming out a bit short.

Amon's hand kept straying to where his gun was stashed. He desperately wanted to fire, but was held in check by the insistence of the woman beside him. Each time his hand strayed to his firearm her icy glare leveled on him.

"These aren't the witches you are used to fighting," Zakuro has insisted the first time he suggested retaliation. "Those witches were disorganized, rogue, and frequently insane. These aren't those witches. You shoot with that gun of yours, your aim better be immaculate. Because when they return fire, it will be flawless, and I really don't have any desire to die just yet. Abyssus abyssum invocat."

After that, Amon's hand would only stray helplessly to his weapon but he was mindful not to draw. It was only that the weight, familiar in his hand, calmed him. No matter what nasty remarks Zakuro made to the contrary, desire of death was low on his list as well.

So he ran. He ran until his heart pounded and every muscle in his body ached from the strain. Of the three, he was by far the most physically fit, and so he wondered how the two severely winded women trailing him were managing to even keep up.

"Are you okay?" he called back after Zakuro directed him to turn the next right.

"Run." Zakuro barked out in one quick breath. He ignored her. Why did she never know when he wasn't speaking to her?

"Robin," he said.

"Run," Robin gasped out.

And so he did.

SKSKSKSKSKSKSKSKSKSKSKSKSKSKSKSKSKSKSKSK

6 hours, 8 cars, and 522 miles later, Amon and Robin sat exhausted and harassed on a cheap hotel bed watching Zakuro pacing stealthily by the window and spewing curses in English and German.

"Where are we?" Robin asked from the bed. She rolled over on her side, her hip in sharp relief against the lamp and with her hair pooling alongside. She looked at the pacing woman waiting patiently for an answer. "Zakuro?" The woman ignored her and kept pacing with an odd disjointed rhythm. Amon watched Robin closely. She lay limp as her muscles were too exhausted to even be tense. Her hair was heavy with dried sweat, and face was still flushed with exertion and excitement. Her tongue kept darting out to moisten chapped lips in an excruciatingly smooth manner.

"Zakuro," Amon said sharply. Zakuro jerked her head up for a moment then turned back to the window.

"It doesn't matter," Zakuro muttered. She lifted the blinds a bare bit away from the window and looked out sharply. "This shouldn't be happening."

"It doesn't matter whether this should or shouldn't be happening. It IS happening," Amon snapped. "How long are you going to keep us in the dark about this? Do you ever plan on explaining just what the hell is going on?" Amon stood up, his last nerve frayed beyond repair. "Nagira says you can help. Mandarin says you are the best. Yet all we seem to be doing with you is running. Beyond that, you don't tell us where we are running to or who we are running from. You just expect us to follow along like nothing else. No questions. I'm not one of your people and I want some goddamn answers, or this is it and we take our chances on our own"

Zakuro stared at him for a moment and then smiled, genuinely. She pulled out a silver medallion on a black cord from her pocket and began spinning it around her hand. "Do you know what it feels like to be shot?" she asked when the medallion struck the back of her hand.

"That-"

"It's funny. You don't really understand that you HAVE been shot at first. You look down and see this hole in your flesh. You stare for a few moments, marveling at it. It's perfect and round and the blood is so red. For a second you can even marvel that there IS no pain." Zakuro paused and twirled the medallion the other way. "Then the pain hits and that is all there is. Your life, everything you know, everything you've seen, felt, heard, is gone. All there is is blinding pain and every second of it is your life. You don't have family. You don't have friends. You have pain. Later, if you get out of there, you don't remember what happened, or how. All you remember is that perfect hole in your flesh and how red the world looks when you are really living"

Zakuro stopped and inspected the welts of the back of her hand. She didn't seem inclined to talk anymore.

"I don't see what that has to do with that we are doing," Amon said. "I told you I wanted some answers, some direction and you"

"Shut up or I'll shoot you," Zakuro interrupted. She slipped the medallion back into her pocket.

"You two are being chased by Solomon. They want you," her finger leveled at Amon,"dead. And you," the finger swung to Robin, "captured and… exploited, let's say. Solomon is large, but confined by their very organization. A hierarchy of roles doesn't give much room for individual input and action. 'R3' is half the size of Solomon, half the resources, and is apparently unbound by politics. They want both of you dead. Solomon can search for you using the legitimate channels of the world. R3 uses the illegal channels. Solomon employs field agents of all different races and so does R3. That means that anyone could be an agent for EITHER one. So forgive me for being a bit hard pressed to hide you, but two enemies are a bit harder to handle than one. At least they aren't in collusion… yet"

"Yet?" came the small voice of Robin.

"I plan for the worst," Zakuro said. "Then if anything different happens, I can count it as a pleasant surprise"

"How do you know what is the worst?" Robin leaned forward, intrigued.

"Once I was wrong. I thought that dying, myself, would be the worst. Sometimes, someone else dying…" Zakuro snapped her head up, "No, never mind."

Robin gazed at her sympathetically, "Will you," she gulped, "will you, someday, tell us, me?"

Zakuro looked at Robin, her back straight and strong. She hadn't paid much attention to Robin, at least personally, as of late. Quiet and complacent Robin was almost a ghost, following along. She had given up her voice and wants in a desperate bid for freedom.

Not that Robin had much of a life before. And while Zakuro had an undeniably colorful past she would not begin to inflict upon another person, something about Robin made her blood ache to help. She wanted Robin to have a life of something more than this.

Robin was still a young girl. Naïve and powerful, but undeniably a girl who had some basic needs. Protection and security, Zakuro could do. Looking at her though, so open, perhaps companionship, friendship, she could try. Robin seemed to beg it with her eyes. Maybe later, when they weren't so pressed, when they made it Takaki, they could talk. But for now, they were exposed, and weakness was not to be tolerated.

"Tomorrow we are going to Takaki, northeast of Sendai. We will switch cars twice en route. Once we get there, I will get in touch with some old partners of the network. We will remain for a week at most, and then move again depending on the information I receive. Later, next week, I expect an update on your chances of escaping the country. We will make our plans from there." Zakuro leveled a cool look at Amon, "Satisfactory?"

It was challenging, setting his teeth on edge, but he nodded. Two more weeks and they might even be out of the country.

Two more weeks and they might be free.  
Amon didn't plan for the worst.

SKSKSKSKSKSKSKSKSKSKSKSKSKSKSKSKSKSKSKSKSKSKSK

When the car broke down after several hours and outside of Maezawa, Amon was ready to begin cursing. Zakuro's serene smile wasn't helping anything either. She stood with the hood up, peering intently into the car. Robin stood politely beside her, occasionally pointing to parts for clarification in a bizarre impromptu car-care lesson.

"Well," Zakuro stepped backwards, "I suppose that's it"

"What?" he asked, "What did you plan for? What did you expect"

"I planned for the loss of the vehicle," Zakuro replied, "I expected it to explode or be shot up." She slammed the hood down. "You see? Pleasant surprise." Robin grinned at this then mumbled an apology along the lines of "stress… inappropriate"

"What are you going to do about this?" Amon demanded. Robin stepped back away from him. Every day, his behavior was terser and more erratic. He was having mood swings and she didn't understand why. At this rate…

"I've got friends in all kinds of places," Zakuro said and snapped open a cell phone. "Zakuro. Ja. Ich muss ein bischen Helfen haben. Ich will dir heir kommen. Es ist mein Auto. Funf kilometer von Maezawa. Ich und zwei andere. Wir haben vier Taschen. Es ist mir egal. Naturlich. Hai, eine Stunde"

"You seem fluent," Amon said, nonplussed.

"Du sprichst… sehr.. nett," Robin said slowly.

"Oh no," Amon's eyes widened, "not two of you. If that's it, then I'm setting ground rules for it. I'm not going to have you two going on while I'm left out of the conversation. And why didn't you tell me you spoke German?" The last bit was directed at Robin.

"I don't," she replied. A few words and phrases is all I know. I know a bit more than I can speak though."

"You speak well," Zakuro said. "Did you understand my conversation then?"

"Umm, you said that the problem was your car and there were four bags and three people. You also said that it would be one hour?" Robin hazarded a guess.

"Right, more or less. Considerably more than more, or more than more or less, than less than more or less"

Amon choked a little on that.

"I'm feeling whimsical," Zakuro explained. "Well, we have got one hour to wait, and a car that shines like a beacon to every friendly and unfriendly eye out on the road. How about we picnic in the forest for a bit? No one yet today has been shot at, stabbed or burned alive and I'd like to keep that trend going. Grab your bags."

It was a simple command, complicated on Zakuro's part by her wounded left shoulder. After a few minutes of fumbling, she managed to settle the one bag on her right shoulder with a minimum of wincing. The other, heavier, bag sat on the ground and she glared at it. Her right arm reached out to try and clumsily pick it up. Amon stepped in before her hand could reach the strap and hefted it easily on his shoulder. Their eyes met and Amon nodded his readiness to leave.

"Thank you," Zakuro said.

"I just want to get out of here," Amon said with a pointed look at Robin who was already standing in the tree line.

"She lives a big life. Let's keep it that way," Zakuro said and moves casually away from the road as Amon followed behind. The brush was thick and angled sharply down near the road but they plowed through, unconcerned. Once they were past the obviously trampled weeds, Zakuro veered right. They were only perhaps twenty feet from the road, but well below its sight. They plowed on, silently for nearly fifteen minutes before Zakuro steered them back into the forest. They had only traveled for five minutes when Zakuro stopped completely and dumped her bag on the ground.

Robin did the same and leaned against a tree catching her breath.

"Now what?" Amon said and placed his two bags at his feet.

"We wait," Zakuro said. Robin closed her eyes and tilted her face to the dappled sunlight.

"How long will we wait here?" Robin asked.

"Twenty minutes, then we head back," Zakuro replied.

"Ah, you kept track of our journey based on time, instead of distance," Robin nodded and Amon watched the shadows play over her features. The dappled shades caressed her forehead, her cheeks, and slid languorously over her lips. Would she stand that way the whole time? With her face relaxed, open, waiting? She seemed content to stand that way. Time slipped past them. First five minutes, then ten, then fifteen. Finally, her lips parted and she drank in the shadows around her.

"Wraiths and shadows," he said aloud and started as both girls looked immediately at him. Zakuro's eyelids slid down to watchful, sleepy crescents. Robin looked at him expectantly.

"I just," Amon started then stopped abruptly. There was no mistaking the sound that tore through the forest the way they had just come.

Someone was out there.  
Someone with a gun.


End file.
